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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


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THE   PLAYS    OF 
J.  M.  BARRIE 


ALICE  SIT- BY-THE- FIRE 


:    .    .  "  ■  '         >•     -,...■-.     ... 

;'.  -'■  ::    :    "      ■■  •*  ''  :    ■ 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S   SONS 

NEW  YORK    :::::::::    1922. 


28  25 


Copyright,  1919,  by 
J.  M.  BARRIE 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 
Published  April,  1919 


All  rights  reserved  under  the  International  Copyright  Act. 
Performance  forbidden  and  right  of  representation  reserved. 
Application  for  the  right  of  performing  this  play  must  be 
made  to  Charles  Frohman,  Inc.,  Empire  Theatre,  New  York. 


?>  f>  C   »j 


3  via 

7 


One  would  like  to  peep  covertly  into  Amy's  diary 
(octavo,  with  the  word  'Amy'  in  gold  letters 
wandering  across  the  soft  brown  leather  covers, 
as  if  it  was  a  long  word  and,  in  Amy's  opinion, 
rather  a  dear).  To  take  such  a  liberty,  and 
allow  the  reader  to  look  over  our  shoulders,  as 
they  often  invite  you  to  do  in  novels  (which, 
however,  are  much  more  coquettish  things  than 
plays)  would  be  very  helpful  to  us;  we  should 
learn  at  once  what  sort  of  girl  Amy  is,  and  why 
to-day  finds  her  washing  her  hair.  We  should 
also  get  proof  or  otherwise,  that  we  are  inter- 
preting her  aright;  for  it  is  our  desire  not  to 
record  our  feelings  about  Amy,  but  merely 
Amy's  feelings  about  herself;  not  to  tell  what 
we  think  happened,  but  what  Amy  thought 
happened.  The  book,  to  be  sure,  is  padlocked, 
but  we  happen  to  know  where  it  is  kept.  (In 
the  lower  drawer  of  that  hand-painted  *escri- 


2  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

toire.)  Sometimes  in  the  night  Amy,  waking 
up,  wonders  whether  she  did  lock  her  diary, 
and  steals  downstairs  in  white  to  make  sure. 
On  these  occasions  she  undoubtedly  lingers 
among  the  pages,  re-reading  the  peculiarly  de- 
lightful bit  she  wrote  yesterday;  so  we  could 
peep  over  her  shoulder,  while  the  reader  peeps 
over  ours.  Then  why  don't  we  do  it?  Is  it 
because  this  would  be  a  form  of  eavesdropping, 
and  that  we  cannot  be  sure  our  hands  are  clean 
enough  to  turn  the  pages  of  a  young  girl's 
thoughts  ?  It  cannot  be  that,  because  the  nove- 
lists do  it.  It  is  because  in  a  play  we  must  tell 
nothing  that  is  not  revealed  by  the  spoken  words; 
you  must  find  out  all  you  want  to  know  from 
them;  there  is  no  weather  even  in  plays  nowa- 
days except  in  melodrama;  the  novelist  can 
have  sixteen  chapters  about  the  hero's  grand- 
parents, but  we  cannot  even  say  he  had  any  unless 
he  says  it  himself.  There  can  be  no  rummaging 
in  the  past  for  us  to  show  what  sort  of  people 
our  characters  are;  we  are  allowed  only  to 
present  them  as  they  toe  the  mark;  then  the 
handkerchief  falls,  and  off  they  go. 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 


So  now  we  know  why  we  must  not  spy  into 
Amy's  diary.  Perhaps  we  have  not  always  been 
such  sticklers  for  the  etiquette  of  the  thing; 
but  we  are  always  sticklers  on  Thursdays,  and 
this  is  a  Thursday. 

As  you  are  to  be  shown  Amy's  room,  we  are 
permitted  to  describe  it,  though  not  to  tell 
(which  would  be  much  more  interesting)  why 
a  girl  of  seventeen  has,  as  her  very  own,  the 
chief  room  of  a  house.  The  moment  you  open 
the  door  of  this  room  (and  please,  you  are  not  to 
look  consciously  at  the  escritoire  as  if  you  knew 
the  diary  was  in  it)  you  are  aware,  though  Amy 
may  not  be  visible,  that  there  is  an  uncommonly 
clever  girl  in  the  house.  The  door  does  not 
always  open  easily,  because  attached  thereto  is 
a  curtain  which  frequently  catches  in  it,  and 
this  curtain  is  hand-sewn  (extinct  animals);  in- 
deed a  gifted  woman's  touch  is  everywhere; 
if  you  are  not  hand-sewn  you  are  almost  certainly 
hand-painted,  but  incompletely,  for  Amy  in  her 
pursuit  of  the  arts  has  often  to  drop  one  in  order 
to  keep  pace  with  another.  Some  of  the  chairs 
have  escaped  as  yet,  but  their  time  will" come. 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 


The  table-cover  and  the  curtains  are  of  a  lovely 
pink,  perforated  ingeniously  with  many  tiny 
holes,  which  when  you  consider  them  against  a 
dark  background,  gradually  assume  the  appear- 
ance of  something  pictorial,  such  as  a  basket  of 
odd  flowers.  The  fender  stool  is  in  brown  velvet, 
and  there  are  words  on  it  that  invite  you  to  sit 
down.  Some  of  the  letters  of  this  message  have 
been  burned  away.  There  are  artistic  white 
bookshelves  hanging  lopsidedly  here  and  there, 
and  they  also  have  pink  curtains,  no  larger  than 
a  doll's  garments.  These  little  curtains  are  for 
covering  the  parts  where  there  are  no  books 
as  yet.  The  pictures  on  the  walls  are  mostly 
studies  done  at  school,  and  include  the  well- 
known  windmill,  and  the  equally  popular  old 
lady  by  the  shore.  Their  frames  are  of  fir-cones, 
glued  together,  or  of  straws  which  have  gone 
limp,  and  droop  like  streaks  of  macaroni. 
There  is  a  cosy  corner;  also  a  milking-stool,  but 
no  cow.  The  lampshades  have  had  ribbons 
added  to  them,  and  from  a  distance  look  like 
ladies  of  the  ballet.  The  flower-pot  also  is  in 
a  skirt.     Near  the  door  is  a  large  screen,  such 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 


as  people  hide  behind  in  the  more  ordinary  sort 
of  play;  it  will  be  interesting  to  see  whether  we 
can  resist  the  temptation  to  hide  some  one 
behind  it. 

A  few  common  weeds  rear  their  profane  heads 
in  this  innocent  garden;  for  instance  a  cruet- 
stand,  a  basket  of  cutlery,  and  a  triangular  dish 
of  the  kind  in  which  the  correct  confine  cheese. 
They  have  not  strayed  here,  they  live  here; 
indeed  this  is  among  other  things  the  dining- 
room  of  a  modest  little  house  in  Brompton  made 
beautiful,  or  nearly  so,  by  a  girl,  who  has  a  soul 
above  food  and  conceals  its  accessories  as  far  as 
possible  from  view,  in  drawers,  even  in  the 
waste-paper  basket.  Not  a  dish,  not  a  spoon, 
not  a  fork,  is  hand-painted,  a  sufficient  indication 
of  her  contempt  for  them. 

Amy  is  present,  but  is  not  seen  to  the  best 
advantage,  for  she  has  been  washing  her  hair, 
and  is  now  drying  it  by  the  fire.  Notable  among 
her  garments  are  a  dressing- jacket  and  a  towel, 
and  her  head  is  bent  so  far  back  over  the  fire 
that  we  see  her  face  nearly  upside-down.  This 
is  no  position  in  which  we  can  do  justice J;o  her 


6  ALICE   SIT-BY-TIIE-FIRE 

undoubted  facial  charm.  Seated  near  her  is  her 
brother  Cosmo,  a  boy  of  thirteen,  in  naval 
uniform.  Cosmo  is  a  cadet  at  Osborne,  and 
properly  proud  of  his  station,  but  just  now  he 
looks  proud  of  nothing.  He  is  plunged  in 
gloom.  The  cause  of  his  woe  is  a  telegram, 
which  he  is  regarding  from  all  points  of  the 
compass,  as  if  in  hopes  of  making  it  send  him 
better  news.  At  last  he  gives  expression  to  his 
feelings.  'All  I  can  say,'  he  sums  up  in  the  first 
words  of  the  play,  'is  that  if  father  tries  to  kiss 
me,  I  shall  kick  him.' 

If  Amy  makes  any  reply  the  words  arrive  upside- 
down  and  are  unintelligible.  The  maid  announces 
Miss  Dunbar.  Then  Amy  rises,  brings  her  head 
to  the  position  in  which  they  are  usually  carried; 
and  she  and  Ginevra  look  into  each  other's  eyes. 
They  always  do  this  when  they  meet,  though 
they  meet  several  times  a  day,  and  it  is  worth 
doing,  for  what  they  see  in  those  pellucid  pools 
is  love  eternal.  Thus  they  loved  at  school  (in 
their  last  two  terms),  and  thus  they  will  love 
till  the  grave  encloses  them.  These  thoughts, 
and  others  even  more  beautiful,  are  in  their 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 


minds  as  they  gaze  at  each  other  now.  No 
man  will  ever  be  able  to  say  sAmy/  or  to  say 
'Ginevra,'  with  such  a  trill  as  they  are  saying  it. 

'Ginevra,  my  beloved.' 

'My  Amy,  my  better  self.' 

'My  other  me.' 

There  is  something  almost  painful  in  love  like 
this. 

'Are  you  well,  Ginevra?' 

'Quite  well,  Amy.' 

Heavens,  the  joy  of  Amy  because  Ginevra  is 
quite  well. 

'  How  did  my  Amy  sleep  ? ' 

'I  had  a  good  night.' 

How  happy  is  Ginevra  because  Amy  has  had 
a  good  night.  All  this  time  they  have  been 
slowly  approaching  each  other,  drawn  by  a 
power  stronger  than  themselves.  Their  inten- 
tion is  to  kiss.  They  do  so.  Cosmo  snorts,  and 
betakes  himself  to  some  other  room,  his  bed- 
room probably,  where  a  man  may  be  alone  with 
mannish  things,  his  razor,  for  instance.  The 
maidens  do  not  resent  his  rudeness.  They  know 
that  poor  Cosmo's  time  will  come,  and  they  are 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 


glad  to  be  alone,  for  they  have  much  to  say  that 
is  for  no  other  mortal  ears.  Some  of  it  is  sure 
to  go  into  the  diary;  indeed  if  we  were  to  put  our 
ear  to  the  drawer  where  the  diary  is  we  could 
probably  hear  its  little  heart  ticking  in  unison 
with  theirs. 

It  is  Ginevra  who  speaks  first.  She  is  indeed 
the  bolder  of  the  two.  She  grips  Amy's  hand 
and  says  quite  firmly,  'Amy,  shall  we  go  to 
another  to-night?'  This  does  not  puzzle  Amy, 
she  is  prepared  for  it,  her  honest  grey  eyes  even 
tell  that  she  has  wanted  it,  but  now  that  it  is 
come  she  quails  a  little.  'Another  theatre?' 
she  murmurs.  'Ginevra,  that  would  be  five  in 
one  week.' 

Ginevra  does  not  blanch.  'Yes,'  she  says 
recklessly,  'but  it  is  also  only  eight  in  seventeen 
years.' 

'Isn't  it,'  says  Amy,  comforted.  'And  they 
have  taught  us  so  much,  haven't  they?  Until 
Monday,  dear,  when  we  went  to  our  first  real 
play  we  didn't  know  what  Life  is.' 

'We  were  two  raw,  unbleached  school-girls, 
Amy — absolutely  unbleached.' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  9 

It  is  such  a  phrase  as  this  that  gives  Ginevra 
the  moral  ascendancy  in  their  discussions. 

'Of  course,'  Amy  ventures,  looking  perhaps 
a  little  unbleached  even  now,  'of  course  I  had 
my  diary,  dear,  and  I  do  think  that,  even  before 
Monday,  there  were  things  in  it  of  a  not  wholly 
ordinary  kind.' 

'Nothing,'  persists  Ginevra  cruelly,  'that 
necessitated  your  keeping  it  locked.' 

'No,  I  suppose  not,'  sadly  enough.  'You  are 
quite  right,  Ginevra.  But  we  have  made  up 
for  lost  time.  Every  night  since  Monday,  in- 
cluding the  matinee,  has  been  a  revelation.' 

She  closes  her  eyes  so  that  she  may  see  the 
revelations  more  clearly.     So  does  Ginevra. 

'Amy,  that  heart-gripping  scene  when  the 
love-maddened  woman  visited  the  man  in  his 
chambers. .' 

'She  wasn't  absolutely  love-maddened,  Gin- 
evra; she  really  loved  her  husband  best  all 
the  time.' 

'Not  till  the  last  act,  darling.' 

'Please  don't  say  it,  Ginevra.  She  was  most 
foolish,  especially  in  the  crepe  de  chine,  but  we 


10  ALICE   SIT-BY-TIIE-FIRE 

know  that  she  only  went  to  the  man's  chambers 
to  get  back  her  letters.  How  I  trembled  for  her 
then.' 

'I  was  strangely  calm,'  says  Ginevra  the 
stony  hearted. 

'Oh,  Ginevra,  I  had  such  a  presentiment  that 
the  husband  would  call  at  those  chambers  while 
she  was  there.  And  he  did.  Ginevra,  you 
remember  his  knock  upon  the  door.  Surely 
you  trembled  then?' 

Ginevra  knits  her  lips  triumphantly. 

'Not  even  then,  Amy.  Somehow  I  felt  sure 
that  in  the  nick  of  time  her  lady  friend  would 
step  out  from  somewhere  and  say  that  the  letters 
were  hers.' 

'Nobly  compromising  herself,  Ginevra.' 

'Amy,  how  I  love  that  bit  where  she  says  so 
unexpectedly,  with  noble  self-renunciation,  "He 
is  my  affianced  husband.'" 

'Isn't  it  glorious.  Strange,  Ginevra,  that  it 
happened  in  each  play.' 

'That  was  because  we  always  went  to  the 
thinking  theatres,  Amy.  Real  plays  are  always 
about  a  lady  and  two  men;  and  alas,  only  one 


ALICE   S1T-BY-THE-FIRE  11 

of  them  is  her  husband.  That  is  Life,  you  know. 
It  is  called  the  odd,  odd  triangle.' 

'Yes,  I  know.'  Appealingly,  'Ginevra,  I 
hope  it  wasn't  wrong  of  me  to  go.  A  month  ago 
I  was  only  a  school -girl.' 

'We  both  were.' 

'Yes,  but  you  are  now  an  art  student,  in  lodg- 
ings, with  a  latchkey  of  your  own;  you  have  no 
one  dependent  on  you,  while  I  have  a  brother 
and  sister  to — to  form.' 

'  You  must  leave  it  to  the  Navy,  dear,  to  form 
Cosmo,  if  it  can;  and  as  the  sister  is  only  a 
baby,  time  enough  to  form  her  when  she  can 
exit  from  her  pram.' 

'I  am  in  a  mother's  place  for  the  time  being, 
Ginevra.' 

'Even  mothers  go  to  thinking  theatres.' 

'Whether  mine  does,  Ginevra,  I  don't  even 
know.  This  is  a  very  strange  position  I  am  in, 
awaiting  the  return  from  India  of  parents  I  have 
not  seen  since  I  was  twelve  years  old.  I  don't 
even  know  if  they  will  like  the  house.  The  rent 
is  what  they  told  me  to  give,  but  perhaps  my 
scheme  of  decoration   won't  appeal   to   them; 


12  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

they  may  think  my  housekeeping  has  been  de- 
fective, and  may  not  make  allowance  for  my 
being  so  new  to  it.' 

Ginevra  takes  Amy  in  her  arms.  'My 
ownest  Amy,  if  they  are  not  both  on  their 
knees  to  you  for  the  noble  way  in  which 
you  have  striven  to  prepare  this  house  for 
them ' 

'Darling  Ginevra,  all  I  ask  is  to  be  allowed  to 
do  my  duty.' 

'Listen,  then,  Amy:  your  duty  is  to  be  able 
to  help  your  parents  in  every  way  when  they 
return.  Your  mother  having  been  so  long  in 
India  can  know  little  about  Life;  how  sweet, 
then,  for  you  to  be  able  to  place  your  know- 
ledge at  her  feet.' 

'I  had  thought  of  that,  dearest.' 

'Then  Amy,  it  would  be  simply  wrong  of  us 
not  to  go  to  another  theatre  to-night.  I  have 
three  and  ninepence,  so  that  if  you  can  scrape 
together  one  and  threepence ' 

'Generous  girl,  it  can't  be.' 

'Why  not,  Amy?' 

The  return  of  Cosmo  handling  the  telegram 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  13 

more  pugnaciously  than  ever  provides  the 
answer. 

'Cosmo,  show  Miss  Dunbar  the  telegram.' 

Miss  Dunbar  reads:  'Boat  arrived  South- 
ampton this  morning.' 

'A  day  earlier  than  they  expected,'  Amy 
explains. 

'It 's  the  other  bit  I  am  worrying  about,' 
Cosmo  says  darkly. 

The  other  bit  proves  to  be  'Hope  to  reach 
our  pets  this  afternoon.  Kisses  from  both  to 
all.     Deliriously  excited.     Mummy  and  Dad.' 

Now  we  see  why  Cosmo  has  been  in  distress. 

'Pets,  kisses,'  he  cries.  'What  can  the 
telegraph  people  think.' 

'Surely,'  Amy  says,  'you  want  to  kiss  your 
mother.' 

'I  'm  going  to  kiss  her,'  he  replies  stoutly. 
'I  mean  to  do  it.  It 's  father  I  am  worrying 
about;  with  his  "kisses  to  both  from  all."  All 
I  can  say  is  that,  if  father  comes  slobbering  over 
me,  I  '11  surprise  him.' 

Here  the  outer  door  slams,  and  the  three  start 
to  their  feet  as  if  Philippi  had  dawned.-  To 


14  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

Cosmo  the  slam  sounds  uncommonly  like  a 
father's  kiss.  He  immediately  begins  to  re- 
hearse the  greeting  which  is  meant  to  ward  off 
the  fatal  blow.  'How  are  you,  father?  I  'm 
glad  to  see  you,  father;  it 's  a  long  journey 
from  India;  won't  you  sit  down?' 

Amy  is  the  first  to  recover.  '  How  silly  of  us,' 
she  says;  'it  is  only  nurse  with  baby.' 

Presumably  what  we  hear  is  a  perambulator 
backing  into  its  stall  in  the  passage.  Then 
nurse  is  distinctly  heard  in  the  adjoining  room, 
and  we  may  gather  that  this  is  for  the  nonce  the 
nursery  of  the  house,though  to  most  occupants  it 
would  be  the  back  dining-room.  There  is  a  door 
between  the  two  rooms,  and  Cosmo,  peeping 
through  a  chink  in  it,  sounds  to  his  fellow- 
conspirators  the  All 's  Well. 

'Poor  nurse,'  Amy  says  with  a  kind  sigh,  'I 
suppose  I  had  better  show  her  the  telegram. 
She  is  sure  to  cry.  She  looks  upon  mother  as 
a  thief  who  has  come  to  steal  baby  from  her.' 

Ginevra  wags  her  head  to  indicate  that  this  is 
another  slice  of  Life;  and  nurse  being  called 
in  is  confronted  with  the  telegram.     She  runs 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  15 

a  gamut  of  emotion  without  words,  implies  that 
she  is  nobody  and  must  submit,  nods  humbly, 
sets  her  teeth,  is  both  indignant  and  servile,  and 
finally  bursts  into  tears.  Amy  tries  to  comfort 
her,  but  gets  this  terrible  answer:  'They  '11  be 
bringing  a  black  woman  to  nurse  her — a  yah- 
yah  they  call  them.' 

Amy  signs  to  Ginevra,  and  Ginevra  signs  to 
Amy.  These  two  souls  perfectly  understand 
each  other,  and  the  telegraphy  means  that  it  will 
be  better  for  dear  Ginevra  to  retire  for  a  time  to 
dear  Amy's  sweet  little  bedroom.  Amy  slips 
the  diary  into  the  hand  of  Ginevra,  who  pops 
upstairs  with  it  to  read  the  latest  instalment. 
Nurse  rambles  on. 

'I  have  had  her  for  seventeen  months.  She 
was  just  two  months  old,  the  angel,  when  they 
sent  her  to  England,  and  she  has  been  mine  ever 
since.  The  most  of  them  has  one  look  for  their 
mammas  and  one  look  for  their  nurse,  but  she 
knew  no  better  than  to  have  both  looks  for  me.' 
She  returns  to  the  nursery,  wailing  'My  reign 
is  over.' 

'Do  you  think  Molly  will  chuck  nurse  for 


16  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

mother?'  asks  Cosmo,  to  whom  this  is  a  new 
thought. 

'It  is  the  way  of  children,'  the  more  experi- 
enced Amy  tells  him. 

'Shabby  little  beasts,'  the  man  says. 

'You  mustn't  say  that,  Cosmo;  but  still  it  is 
hard  on  nurse.  Of  course,'  with  swimming  eyes, 
'in  a  sense  it 's  hard  on  all  of  us — I  mean  to  be 
expecting  parents  in  these  circumstances.  There 
must  be  almost  the  same  feeling  of  strangeness 
in  the  house  as  when  it  is  a  baby  that  is  ex- 
pected.' 

'I  suppose  it  is  a  bit  like  that,'  Cosmo  says 
gloomily.  He  goes  to  her  as  the  awfulness  of 
this  sinks  into  him:  'Great  Scott,  Amy,  it 
can't  be  quite  so  bad  as  that.' 

Amy,  who  is  of  a  very  affectionate  nature,  is 
glad  to  have  the  comfort  of  his  hand. 

'What  do  we  really  know  about  mother, 
Cosmo?'  she  says  darkly. 

They  are  perhaps  a  touching  pair. 

'There  are  her  letters,  Amy.' 

'Can  one  know  a  person  by  letters?  Does 
she   know   you,    Cosmo,    by   your   letters    to 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  17 

her,  saying  that  your  motto  is  "Something  at- 
tempted, something  done  to  earn  a  night's 
repose,"  and  so  on.' 

'Well,  I  thought  that  would  please  her.' 

'Perhaps  in  her  letters  she  says  things  just 
to  please  us.' 

Cosmo  wriggles. 

'This  is  pretty  low  of  you,  damping  a  fellow 
when  he  was  trying  to  make  the  best  of  it.' 

'All  I  want  you  to  feel,'  Amy  says,  get- 
ting closer  to  him,  'is  that  as  brother  and 
sister,  we  are  allies,  you  know — against  the 
unknown.' 

'Yes,  Amy,'  Cosmo  says,  and  gets  closer  to 
her. 

This  so  encourages  her  that  she  hastens  to 
call  him  'dear.' 

'I  want  to  say,  dear,  that  I  'm  very  sorry  I 
used  to  shirk  bowling  to  you.' 

'That 's  nothing.  I  know  what  girls  are. 
Amy,  it 's  all  right,  I  really  am  fond  of  you.' 

'I  have  tried  to  be  a  sort  of  mother  to  you, 
Cosmo.' 

'My  socks  and  things — I  know.'    Returning 


18  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

anxiously  to  the  greater  question,  'Amy,  do  we 
know  anything  of  them  at  all?' 

'We  know  some  cold  facts,  of  course.  We 
know  that  father  is  much  older  than  mother.' 

'I  can't  understand  why  such  an  old  chap 
should  be  so  keen  to  kiss  me.' 

'Mother  is  forty,'  Amy  says  in  a  low  voice. 

'I  thought  she  was  almost  more  than  forty,' 
Cosmo  says  in  a  still  lower  voice. 

Amy  shudders.  'Don't  be  so  ungenerous, 
Cosmo.'  But  she  has  to  add.  'Of  course  we 
must  be  prepared  to  see  her  look  older.' 

'Why?' 

'She  will  be  rather  yellow,  coming  from  India, 
you  know.     They  will  both  be  a  little  yellow.' 

They  exchange  forlorn  glances,  but  Cosmo 
says  manfully,  'We  shan't  be  any  the  less  fond 
of  them  for  that,  Amy.' 

'No,  indeed.' 

They  clasp  hands  on  it,  and  Cosmo  has  an 
inspiration. 

'Do  you  think  we  should  have  these  yellow 
flowers  in  the  room  ?    They  might  feel — eh  ? ' 

'How  thoughtful  of  you,  dear.    I  shall  remove 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  19 

them  at  once.  After  all,  Cosmo,  we  seem  to 
know  a  good  deal  about  them;  and  then  we  know 
some  other  things  by  heredity.' 

'Heredity?    That 's  drink,  isn't  it?' 

She  who  has  been  to  so  many  theatres  smiles 
at  him.  'No,  you  boy!  It's  something  in  a 
play.  It  means  that  if  we  know  ourselves  well, 
we  know  our  parents  also.  From  thinking  of 
myself,  Cosmo,  I  know  mother.  In  her  youth 
she  was  one  who  did  not  love  easily;  but  when 
she  loved  once  it  was  for  aye.  A  nature  very 
difficult  to  understand,  but  profoundly  interest- 
ing. I  can  feel  her  within  me,  as  she  was  when 
she  walked  down  the  aisle  on  that  strong  arm, 
to  honour  and  obey  him  henceforth  for  aye. 
What  cared  they  that  they  had  to  leave 
their  native  land,  they  were  together  for  aye. 

And   so '     Her   face   is   flushed.      Cosmo 

interrupts  selfishly. 

'What  about  father?' 

'Very  nice,  unless  you  mention  rupees  to  him. 
You  see  the  pensions  of  all  Indian  officers  are 
paid  in  rupees,  which  means  that  for  every  2s. 
due  to  them  they  get  only  Is.  4d.     If  you  -inen- 


20  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

tion  rupees  to  any  one  of  them  he  flares  up  like 
a  burning  paper.' 

'I  know.  I  shall  take  care.  But  what  would 
you  say  he  was  like  by  heredity  ? ' 

'Quiet,  unassuming,  yet  of  an  intensely 
proud  nature.  One  who  if  he  was  deceived 
would  never  face  his  fellow-creatures,  but  would 
bow  his  head  before  the  wind  and  die.  A  strong 
man.' 

'Do  you  mean,  Amy,  that  he  takes  all  that 
from  me?' 

'I  mean  that  is  the  sort  of  man  my  mother 
would  love.' 

Cosmo  nods.  'Yes,  but  he  is  just  as  likely  to 
kiss  me  as  ever.' 

The  return  of  Ginevra  makes  him  feel  that 
this  room  is  no  place  for  him. 

'I  think,'  he  says,  'I  '11  go  and  walk  up  and 
down  outside,  and  have  a  look  at  them  as  they  're 
getting  out  of  the  cab.  My  plan,  you  see,  is  first 
to  kiss  mother.  Then  I  've  made  up  four  things 
to  say  to  father,  and  it 's  after  I  've  said  them 
that  the  awkward  time  will  come.  So  then  I  say, 
"I  wonder  what  is  in  the  evening  papers"; 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  21 

and  out  I  slip,  and  when  I  come  back  you  will 
all  have  settled  down  to  ordinary  life,  same  as 
other  people.  That 's  my  plan.'  He  goes  off, 
not  without  hope,  and  Ginevra  shrugs  her 
shoulders  forgivingly. 

'How  strange  boys  are,'  she  reflects.  'Have 
you  any  "plan,"  Amy?' 

'Only  this,  dear  Ginevra,  to  leap  into  my 
mother's  arms.' 

Ginevra  lifts  what  can  only  be  called  a  trouser 
leg,  because  that  is  what  it  is,  though  they  are 
very  seldom  seen  alone.  'What  is  this  my  busy 
bee  is  making?' 

'It  's  a  gentleman's  leg,'  Amy  explains,  not 
without  a  sweet  blush.  'You  hand-sew  them 
and  stretch  them  over  a  tin  cylinder,  and  they 
are  then  used  as  umbrella  stands.  Art  in  the 
Home  says  they  are  all  the  rage.' 

'Oh,  Amy,  Boudoir  Gossip  says  they  have 
quite  gone  out.' 

'  Again  !  Every  art  decoration  I  try  goes  out 
before  I  have  time  to  finish  it.' 

She  remembers  the  diary. 

'Did  my  Ginevra  like  my  new  page?'^. 


22  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

*  Dearest,  that  is  what  I  came  down  to  speak 
about.    You  forgot  to  give  me  the  key.' 

'Ginevra,  can  you  ever  forgive  me?  Let  us 
go  up  and  read  it  together.' 

With  arms  locked  they  seek  the  seclusion  of 
Amy's  bedroom.  Cosmo  rushes  in  to  tell  them 
that  there  is  a  suspicious-looking  cab  coming 
down  the  street,  but  finding  the  room  empty  he 
departs  again  to  reconnoitre.  A  cab  draws  up, 
a  bell  rings,  and  soon  we  hear  the  voice  of 
Colonel  Grey.  He  can  talk  coherently  to  Fanny, 
he  can  lend  a  hand  in  dumping  down  his  luggage 
in  the  passage,  he  can  select  from  a  handful  of 
silver  wherewith  to  pay  his  cabman:  all  im- 
possible deeds  to  his  Alice,  who  would  drop  the 
luggage  on  your  toes  and  cast  all  the  silver  at 
your  face  rather  than  be  kept  another  minute 
from  her  darlings.  'Where  are  they?'  she  has 
evidently  cried  just  before  we  see  her,  and  Fanny 
has  made  a  heartless  response,  for  it  is  a  dejected 
Alice  that  appears  in  the  doorway  of  the 
room. 

' All  out!'  she  echoes  wofully,  'even — even 
baby?' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  23 

'Yes,  ma'am.' 

The  poor  mother,  who  had  entered  the  house 
like  a  whirlwind,  subsides  into  a  chair.  Her  arms 
fall  empty  by  her  side:  a  moment  ago  she  had 
six  of  them,  a  pair  for  each  child.  She  cries  a 
little,  and  when  Alice  cries,  which  is  not  often 
for  she  is  more  given  to  laughter,  her  face  screws 
up  like  Molly's  rather  than  like  Amy's.  She  is 
very  unlike  the  sketch  of  her  lately  made  by  the 
united  fancies  of  her  son  and  daughter;  and 
she  will  dance  them  round  the  room  many  times 
before  they  know  her  better.  Amy  will  never 
be  so  pretty  as  her  mother,  Cosmo  will  never  be 
so  gay,  and  it  will  be  years  before  either  of  them 
is  as  young.  But  it  is  quite  a  minute  before  we 
suspect  this;  we  must  look  the  other  way  while 
the  Colonel  dries  her  tears.  He  is  quite  a 
grizzled  veteran,  and  is  trying  hard  to  pretend 
that  having  done  without  his  children  for  so 
many  years,  a  few  minutes  more  is  no  great 
matter.  His  adorable  Alice  is  this  man's  one 
joke.  Some  of  those  furrows  in  his  brow  have 
come  from  trying  to  understand  her,  he  owes 
the  agility  of  his  mind  to  trying  to  keep  up  with 


24  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

her;  the  humorous  twist  in  his  mouth  is  the 
result  of  chuckling  over  her. 

She  flutters  across  the  room.  'Robert,'  she 
says,  thrilling.  'I  daresay  my  Amy  painted 
that  table.' 

'Yes,  ma'am,  she  did,'  says  Fanny. 

'Robert,  Amy's  table.' 

'Yes,  but  keep  cool,  memsahib.' 

'I  suppose,  ma'am,  I  'm  to  take  my  orders 
from  you  now,'  the  hard-hearted  Fanny  in- 
quires. 

'I  suppose  so,'  Alice  says,  so  timidly  that 
Fanny  is  encouraged  to  be  bold. 

'The  poor  miss,  it  will  be  a  bit  trying  for 
her  just  at  first.' 

Alice  is  taken  aback. 

'I  hadn't  thought  of  that,  Robert.' 

Robert  thinks  it  time  to  take  command. 

'Fiddle-de-dee.  Bring  your  mistress  a  cup 
of  tea,  my  girl.' 

'Yes,  sir.  Here  is  the  tea-caddy,  ma'am.  I 
can't  take  the  responsibility;  but  this  is  the 
key.' 

'Robert/  Alice  says  falteringly.     'I  daren't 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  25 

break  into  Amy's  caddy.  She  mightn't  like  it. 
I  can  wait.' 

'Rubbish.  Give  me  the  key.'  Even  Fanny 
cannot  but  admire  the  Colonel  as  he  breaks  into 
the  caddy. 

'That  makes  me  feel  I  'm  master  of  my  own 
house  already.  Don't  stare  at  me,  girl,  as  if  I 
was  a  housebreaker.' 

'I  feci  that  is  just  what  we  both  are,'  his 
wife  aays;  but  as  soon  as  they  are  alone  she 
cries,  '  It 's  home,  home !  India  done,  home 
begun.5 

He  is  as  glad  as  she. 

'Home,  memsahib.  And  we  've  never  had 
a  real  one  before.  Thank  God,  I  'm  able  to 
give  it  you  at  last.' 

She  darts  impulsively  from  one  object  in  the 
room  to  another. 

'Look,  these  pictures.  I  'm  sure  they 
are  all  Amy's  work.  They  are  splendid.' 
With  perhaps  a  moment's  misgiving,  'Aren't 
they?' 

'7  couldn't  have  done  them,'  the  Colonel 
says  guardedly.   He  considers  the  hand-painted 


26  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

curtains.  'She  seems  to  have  stopped  every- 
thing in  the  middle.  Still  I  couldn't  have  done 
them.  I  expect  this  is  what  is  called  a  cosy 
corner/ 

But  Alice  has  found  something  more  precious. 
She  utters  little  cries  of  rapture. 

'What  is  it?' 

'Oh,  Robert,  a  baby's  shoe.  My  baby.' 
She  presses  it  to  her  as  if  it  were  a  dove.  Then 
she  is  appalled.  'Robert,  if  I  had  met  my 
baby  coming  along  the  street  I  shouldn't  have 
known  her  from  other  people's  babies.' 

'Yes,  you  would,'  the  Colonel  says  hurriedly. 
'Don't  break  down  noic.  Just  think,  Alice, 
after  to-day,  you  will  know  your  baby  any- 
where.' 

'Oh  joy,  joy,  joy.' 

Then  the  expression  of  her  face  changes  to 
'Oh  woe,  woe,  woe.' 

'What  is  it  now,  Alice?' 

'Perhaps  she  won't  like  me/ 

'Impossible.' 

'Perhaps  none  of  them  will  like  me/ 

'My  dear  Alice,  children  always  love  their 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  27 

mother,  whether  they  see  much  of  her  or  not. 
It 's  an  instinct.' 

'Who  told  you  that?' 

'You  goose.     It  was  yourself.' 

'I  've  lost  faith  in  it.' 

He  thinks  it  wise  to  sound  a  warning  note. 
'Of  course  you  must  give  them  a  little  time.' 

'Robert,  Robert.  Not  another  minute. 
That 's  not  the  way  people  ever  love  me.  They 
mustn't  think  me  over  first  or  anything  of  that 
sort.  If  they  do  I  'm  lost;  they  must  love  me 
at  once.' 

'A  good  many  have  done  that,'  Robert  says, 
surveying  her  quizzically  as  if  she  were  one  of 
Amy's  incompleted  works. 

'You  are  not  implying,  Robert,  that  I  ever 

.    If  I  ever  did  I  always  told  you  about  it 

afterwards,  didn't  I?  And  I  certainly  never 
did  it  until  I  was  sure  you  were  comfortable.' 

'You  always  wrapped  me  up  first,'  he 
admits. 

'They  were  only  boys,  Robert — poor  lonely 
boys.  What  are  you  looking  so  solemn  about, 
Robert?' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 


'I  was  trying  to  picture  you  as  you  will  be 
when  you  settle  down.' 

She  is  properly  abashed.  'Not  settled  down 
yet — with  a  girl  nearly  grown  up.  And  yet  it 's 
true;  it 's  the  tragedy  of  Alice  Grey.'  She 
pulls  his  hair.  'Oh,  husband,  when  shall  I 
settle  down  ? ' 

'I  can  tell  you  exactly — in  a  year  from  to-day. 
Alice,  when  I  took  you  away  to  that  humdrummy 
Indian  station  I  was  already  quite  a  middle-aged 
bloke.  I  chuckled  over  your  gaiety,  but  it 
gave  me  lumbago  to  try  to  be  gay  with  you. 
Poor  old  girl,  you  were  like  an  only  child  who 
has  to  play  alone.  When  for  one  month  in  the 
twelve  we  went  to — to — where  the  boys  were, 
it  was  like  turning  you  loose  in  a  sweet-stuff 
shop.' 

'Robert,  darling,  what  nonsense  you  do  talk.' 

He  makes  rather  a  wry  face.  'I  didn't 
always  like  it,  memsahib.  But  I  knew  my 
dear,  and  could  trust  her;  and  I  often  swore  to 
myself  when  I  was  shaving,  "I  won't  ask  her  to 
settle  down  until  I  have  given  her  a  year  in 
England."     A  year  from  to-day,  you  harum- 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  29 

scarum.  By  that  time  your  daughter  will  be 
almost  grown-up  herself;  and  it  wouldn't  do 
to  let  her  pass  you.' 

'Robert,  here  is  an  idea;  she  and  I  shall 
come  of  age  together.  I  promise;  or  I  shall 
try  to  keep  one  day  in  front  of  her,  like  the 
school-mistresses  when  they  are  teaching  boys 
Latin.  Dearest,  you  haven't  been  disappointed 
in  me  as  a  whole,  have  you?  I  haven't  paid 
you  for  all  your  dear  kindnesses  to  me — in 
rupees,  have  I?' 

His  answer  is  of  no  consequence,  for  at  this 
moment  there  arrives  a  direct  message  from 
heaven.  It  comes  by  way  of  the  nursery,  and 
is  a  child's  cry.  The  heart  of  Alice  Grey  stops 
beating  for  several  seconds.  Then  it  says, 
'  My  Molly ! '  The  nurse  appears,  starts,  and 
is  at  once  on  the  defensive. 

nurse.     'Is  it — Mrs.  Grey?' 
alice  hastily,  'Yes.    Is  my — child  in  there?' 
nukse.     'Yes,  ma'am.' 

colonel,    ready    to    catch    her   if   she   falls, 
'Alice,  be  calm.' 


30  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

alice,  falteringly,  'May  I  go  in,  nurse?' 
nurse,  cold-heartedly,  'She  's  sleeping,  ma'am, 

and  I  have  made  it  a  rule  to  let  her  wake  up 

naturally.    But  I  daresay  it 's  a  bad  rule.' 
alice,  her  hands  on  her  heart,  'I  'm  sure  it 's 

a  good  rule.     I  shan't  wake  her,  nurse.' 
colonel,  showing  the  stuff  he  is  made  of,  'Gad, 

I  will.    It 's  the  least  she  can  do  to  let  herself 

be  wakened.' 
alice,    admiring   the   effrontery   of   the   man, 

'Don't  interfere,  Robert.' 
colonel.     'Sleeping?      Why,    she    cried    just 

now.' 
nurse.     'That  is  why  I  came  out — to  see  who 

was  making  so  much  noise.' 

An  implacable  woman  this,  and  yet  when 

she  is  alone  with  Molly  a  very  bundle  of 

delight. 

'  I  'm  vexed  when  she  cries — I  daresay  it 's 

old-fashioned  of  me.     Not  being  a  yah-yah 

I  'm  at  a  disadvantage.' 
alice,  swelling,  '  After  all,  she  is  my  child.' 
colonel,  firmly,  'Come  along.  Alice/ 
alice.     'I  would  prefer  to  go  alone,  dear.' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  31 

colonel.     'All  right.    But  break  it  to  her  that 

I  'm  kicking  my  heels  outside.' 

Alice  gets  as  far  as  the  door.     The  nurse 

discharges  a  last  duty. 
nurse.     'You    won't   touch    her,    ma'am;  she 

doesn't  like  to  be  touched  by  strangers.' 
alice.     '  Strangers  ! ' 
colonel.     'Really,  nurse.' 
alice.     'It 's  quite  true.' 
nurse.     'She  's  an  angel  if  you  have  the  right 

way  with  her.' 
alice.     'Robert,  if  I  shouldn't  have  the  right 

way  with  her.' 
colonel.     'You.' 

But  the  woman  has  scored  again. 
alice,  willing  to  go  on  her  knees,  'Nurse,  what 

sort  of  a  way  does  she  like  from  strangers?' 
nurse.     'She 's    not    fond    of    a    canoodlin' 

way.' 
alice,  faintly,  'Is  she  not?' 

She   departs   to   face   her   child,   and   the 

natural    enemy    follows    her,    after    giving 

Colonel  Grey  a  moment  in  which  to  discharge 

her  if  he  dares,  that  is  if  he  wishes  to  see  his 


32  ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

baby  wither  and  die.  One  may  as  well  say 
here  that  nurse  weathered  this  and  many 
another  gale,  and  remained  in  the  house  for 
many  years  to  be  its  comfort  and  its  curse. 

Fanny,  with  the  tea-tray,  comes  and  goes 
without  the  Colonel's  being  aware  of  her  pres- 
ence. He  merely  knows  that  he  has  waved 
someone  away.  The  fact  is  that  the  Colonel 
is  engrossed  in  a  rather  undignified  pursuit. 
He  is  listening  avidly  at  the  nursery  door, 
and  is  thus  discovered  by  another  member  of 
his  family  who  has  entered  cautiously.  This 
is  Master  Cosmo,  who,  observing  the  tea-tray, 
has  the  happy  notion  of  interposing  it  between 
himself  and  his  father's  possible  osculatory 
intentions.  He  lifts  the  tray,  and  thus  armed 
introduces  himself. 

cosmo.     'Hullo,  father.' 

His  father  leaves  the  door  and  strides  to 
him. 

colonel.     'Is  it — it 's  Cosmo.' 

cosmo,  with  the  tray  well  to  the  fore,  'I  'm 
awfully  glad  to  see  you — it 's  a  long  way  from 
India.' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  33 

colonel.     'Put  that  down,  my  boy,  and  let 

me  get  hold  of  you.' 
cosmo,  ingratiatingly,  'Have  some  tea,  father.' 
colonel.     'Put  it  down.' 

Cosmo  does  so,  and  prepares  for  the  worst. 
The  Colonel  takes  both  his  hands. 

'Let 's  have  a  look  at  you.    So  this  is  you.' 
He  waggles  his  head,  well-pleased,   while 
Cosmo  backs  in  a  gentlemanly  manner. 
cosmo,  implying  that  this  first  meeting  is  now  an 
affair  of  the  past,  'Has  Mother  gone  to  lie 
down?' 
colonel.     'Lie  down?     She  's  in  there.' 

Cosmo  steals  to  the  nursery  door  and  softly 
closes  it. 

'Why  do  you  do  that?' 

cosmo.     'I  don't  know.    I  thought  it  would  be 

— best.'    In  a  burst  of  candour,  'This  is  not 

the  way  I  planned  it,  you  see.' 

colonel.     'Our    meeting?      So    you've    been 

planning  it.    My  dear  fellow,  I  was  planning 

it  too,  and  my  plan '     He  is  certainly 

coming  closer. 
cosmo,  hurriedly,  'Yes,  I  know.     Now  that's 


34  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

over — our  first  meeting,  I  mean;    now  we 

settle  down.' 
colonel.     'Not  yet.     Come  here,   my  boy.' 

He  draws  him  to  a  chair;  he  evidently  thinks 

that  a  father  and  his  boy  of  thirteen  can  sit  in 

the  same  chair.    Cosmo  is  burning  to  be  nice 

to  him,  but  of  course  there  are  limits. 
cosmo.     'Look  here,   father.     Of  course,   you 

see — ways  change.     I  daresay  they  did  it, 

when  you  were  a  boy,  but  it  isn't  done  now.' 
colonel.     'What  isn't  done,  you  dear  fellow?' 
cosmo.     'Oh — well! — and    then    taking    both 

hands  and  saying  'Dear  fellow' — 'It 's  gone 

out,  you  know.' 

The  Colonel  chuckles  and  forbears.    'I  'in 

uncommon  glad  you  told  me,  Cosmo.     Not 

having  been  a  father  for  so  long,  you  see,  I  'm 

rather  raw  at  it.' 
cosmo,    relieved,    'That 's   all   right.      You  '11 

soon  get  the  hang  of  it.' 
colonel.     'If  you  could  give  me  any  other 

tips?' 
cosmo,   becoming  confidential,   'Well,   there 's 

my  beastly  name.    Of  course  you  didn't  mean 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  35 

any  harm  when  you  christened  me  Cosmo,  but 
— I  always  sign  myself  "C.  Grey" — to  make 
the  fellows  think  I'  m  Charles.' 

colonel.     'Do  they  call  you  that?' 

cosmo.     'Lord,  no,  they  call  me  Grey.' 

colonel.  'And  do  you  want  me  to  call  you 
Grey  ? ' 

cosmo,  magnanimously,  'No,  I  don't  expect 
that.  But  I  thought  that  before  people,  you 
know,  you  needn't  call  me  anything.  If  you 
want  to  attract  my  attention  you  could  just 
say  "Hst!"— like  that.' 

colonel.  'Right  you  are.  But  you  won't 
make  your  mother  call  you  Hst.' 

cosmo,  sagaciously,  'Oh  no — of  course  women 
are  different.' 

colonel.  '  You  '11  be  very  nice  to  her,  Cosmo  ? 
She  had  to  pinch  and  save  more  than  I  should 
have  allowed — to  be  able  to  send  you  into 
the  navy.    We  are  poor  people,  you  know.' 

cosmo.  'I've  been  planning  how  to  be  nice 
to  her.' 

colonel.     'Good  lad.     Good  lad.' 

Cosmo  remembers   his  conversation   with 


36  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

Amy,  and  thoughtfully  hides  the  'yellow 
flowers'  behind  a  photograph.  This  may  be 
called  one  of  his  plans  for  being  nice  to 
mother. 

cosmo.  'You  don't  have  your  medals  here, 
father  ? ' 

colonel.  'No,  I  don't  carry  them  about.  But 
your  mother  does,  the  goose.  They  are  not 
very  grand  ones,  Cosmo.' 

cosmo,  true  blue,  'Yes,  they  are.' 

An  awkward  silence  falls.  The  Colonel  has 
so  much  to  say  that  he  can  only  look  it.  He 
looks  it  so  eloquently  that  Cosmo's  fears 
return.    He  summons  the  plan  to  his  help. 

'I  wonder  what  is  in  the  evening  papers. 

If  you  don't  mind,  I  '11  cut  out  and  get  one.' 

Before  he  can  cut  out,  however,  Alice  is  in 

the  room,  the  picture  of  distress.  No  wonder, 

for  even  we  can  hear  the  baby  howling. 

alice,  tragically,.  'My  baby.     Robert,  listen; 
that  is  how  I  affect  her.' 
Cosmo  cowers  unseen. 

colonel.  'No,  no,  darling,  it  isn't  you  who 
have  made  her  cry.     She — she  is  teething. 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  37 

It 's  her  teeth,  isn't  it  ? '  he  barks  at  the  nurse, 
who  emerges  looking  not  altogether  woeful. 
'Say  it 's  her  teeth,  woman.' 

nurse,  taking  this  as  a  reflection  on  her  charge. 
'She  had  her  teeth  long  ago.' 

alice,  the  forlorn,  'The  better  to  bite  me  with.' 

nurse,  complacently,  'I  don't  understand  it. 
She  is  usually  the  best-tempered  lamb — as 
you  may  see  for  yourself,  sir.' 

It  is  an  in/itation  that  the  Colonel  is  eager 
to  accept,  but  after  one  step  toward  the  nur- 
sery he  is  true  to  Alice. 

colonel.  'I  decline  to  see  her.  I  refuse  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  her  till  she  comes  to 
a  more  reasonable  frame  of  mind.' 

The  nurse  retires,  to  convey  possibly  this 
ultimatum  to  her  charge. 

alice,  in  the  noblest  spirit  of  self-abnegation, 
'Go,  Robert.  Perhaps  she — will  like  you 
better.' 

colonel.     'She  's  a  contemptible  child.' 

But  that  nursery  door  does  draw  him 
strongly.  He  finds  himself  getting  nearer 
and  nearer  to  it.     'I  '11  show  her,'  with  a 


K 


38  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

happy   pretence   that   his   object   is   merely 

to  enforce  discipline.     The  forgotten  Cosmo 

pops  up  again;    the  Colonel  introduces  him 

with  a  gesture  and  darts  off  to  his  baby. 
alice,  entranced,  'My  son!' 
cosmo,   forgetting   all   plans,    'Mother!'     She 

envelops  him  in  her  arms,  worshipping  him, 

and  he  likes  it. 
Alice.     'Oh,      Cosmo  —  how     splendid     you 

are.' 
cosmo,  soothingly,  'That 's  all  right,  mother.' 
alice.     'Say  it  again.' 
cosmo.     'That 's  all  right.' 
alice.     'No,  the  other  word.' 
cosmo.     'Mother.' 
alice.     'Again.' 
cosmo.     '  Mother — mother '    When  she  has 

come  to:   'Are  you  better  now?' 
alice.     'He  is  my  son,  and  he  is  in  uniform.' 
cosmo,  aware  that  allowances  must  be  made, 

'Yes,  I  know.' 
alice.     'Are  you  glad   to   see  your   mother, 

Cosmo  ? ' 
cosmo.     'Rather!     Will  you  have  some  tea?' 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  39 

alice.    'No,  no,  I  feel  I  can  do  nothing  for  the 

rest  of  my  life  but  hug  my  glorious  boy.' 
cosmo.     'Of  course,  I  have  my  work.' 
alice.     'His  work!     Do  the  officers  love  you, 

Cosmo  ? ' 
cosmo,  degraded,  'Love  me!    I  should  think 

not.' 
alice,     'I  should  like  to  ask  them  all  to  come 

and  stay  with  us.' 
cosmo,   appalled,    'Great   Scott,   mother,   you 

can't  do  things  like  that.' 
alice.     'Can't    I?     Are    you    very    studious, 

Cosmo  ? ' 
cosmo,    neatly,    'My    favourite    authors    are 

William   Shakespeare   and   William   Milton. 

They  are  grand,  don't  you  think  ? ' 
alice.    'I  'm  only  a  woman,  you  see;  and  I  'm 

afraid   they   sometimes   bore   me,   especially 

William  Milton.' 
cosmo,  with  relief,  'Do  they?     Me,  too.' 
alice,  on  the  verge  of  tears  again,  'But  not 

half  so  much  as  I  bore  my  baby.' 
cosmo,  anxious  to  help  her,   'What  did  you 

do  to  her?' 


40  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

alice,  appealingly,  'I  couldn't  help  wanting 
to  hold  her  in  my  arms,  could  I,  Cosmo?' 

cosmo,  full  of  consideration,  'No,  of  course  you 
couldn't.'  He  reflects.  'How  did  you  take 
hold  of  her?' 

alice.     'I  suppose  in  some  clumsy  way.' 

cosmo.     'Not  like  this,  was  it?' 

alice,  gloomily,  'I  dare  say.' 

cosmo.  *You  should  have  done  it  this  way.' 
He  very  kindly  shows  her  how  to  carry  a  baby. 

alice,  with  becoming  humility,  'Thank  you, 
Cosmo.' 

He  does  not  observe  the  gleam  in  her  eye, 
and  is  in  the  high  good  humour  that  comes 
to  any  man  when  any  woman  asks  him  to 
show  her  how  to  do  anything. 

cosmo.  '  If  you  like  I  '11  show  you  with  a 
cushion.  You  see  this' — scoops  it  up — 'is 
wrong;  but  this' — he  does  a  little  sleight 
of  hand — 'is  right.  Another  way  is  this,  with 
their  head  hanging  over  your  shoulder,  and 
you  holding  on  firmly  to  their  legs.  You 
wouldn't  think  it  was  comfortable,  but  they 
like  it/ 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  41 

alice,  adoring  him.  'I  see,  Cosmo.'  She  prac- 
tises diligently  with  the  cushion.  'First  this 
way — then  this.' 

cosmo.  'That 's  first-class.  It 's  just  a  knack. 
You  '11  soon  pick  it  up.' 

alice,  practising  on  him  instead  of  the  cushion, 
'You  darling  boy!' 

cosmo.  'I  think  I  hear  a  boy  calling  the 
evening  papers.' 

alice,  clinging  to  him,  'Don't  go.  There  can 
be  nothing  in  the  evening  papers  about  what 
my  boy  thinks  of  his  mother.' 

cosmo.  'Good  lord,  no.'  He  thinks  quickly. 
'You  haven't  seen  Amy  yet.  It  isn't  fair  of 
Amy.  She  should  have  been  here  to  take 
some  of  it  off  me.' 

alice.  'Cosmo,  you  don't  mean  that  I  bore 
you  too ! ' 

He  is  pained.  It  is  now  he  who  boldly 
encircles  her.  But  his  words,  though  well 
meant,  are  not  so  happy  as  his  action.  'I 
love  you,  mother;  and  /  don't  think  you  're 
so  yellow.' 

alice,  the  belle  of  many  stations,   'Yellow?' 


42  ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

Her  brain  reels.  'Cosmo,  do  you  think  me 
plain  ? ' 

cosmo,  gallantly,  'No,  I  don't.  I  'm  not  one 
of  the  kind  who  judge  people  by  their  looks. 
The  soul,  you  know,  is  what  I  judge  them 
by.' 

alice.     'Plain?    Me.' 

cosmo,  the  comforter,  'Of  course  it 's  all  right 
for  girls  to  bother  about  being  pretty.'  He 
lures  her  away  from  the  subject.  'I  can  tell 
you  a  funny  thing  about  that.  We  had 
theatricals  at  Osborne  one  night,  and  we 
played  a  thing  called  "The  Royal  Boots.'" 

alice,  clapping  her  hands,  '/  played  in  that, 
too,  last  year.' 

cosmo.     '  You  ? ' 

alice.     'Yes.     Why  shouldn't  I V 

cosmo.     'But  we  did  it  for  fun.' 

alice.     'So  did  we.' 

cosmo,  his  views  on  the  universe  crumbling, 
'You  still  like  fun?' 

alice.     'Take  care,  Cosmo.' 

cosmo.     'But  you  're  our  mother.' 

alice.     'Mustn't  mothers  have  fun? 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  43 

cosmo,  heavily,  'Must  they?  I  see.  You 
had  played  the  dowager. 

Alice.  'No,  I  didn't.  I  played  the  girl  in  the 
Wellington  boots.' 

cosmo,  blinking,  'Mother,  I  played  the  girl  in 
the  Wellington  boots.' 

alice,  happily,  'My  son — this  ought  to  bring 
us  closer  together.' 

cosmo,  who  has  not  yet  learned  to  leave  well 
alone,  'But  the  reason  I  did  it  was  that  we 
were  all  boys.  Were  there  no  young  ladies 
where  you  did  it,  mother?' 

alice.  'Cosmo.'  She  is  not  a  tamed  mother 
yet,  and  in  sudden  wrath  she  flips  his  face 
with  her  hand.  He  accepts  it  as  a  smack. 
The  Colonel  foolishly  chooses  this  moment  to 
make  his  return.  He  is  in  high  good-humour, 
and  does  not  observe  that  two  of  his  nearest 
relatives  are  glaring  at  each  other. 

colonel,  purring  offensively,  'It 's  all  right 
now,  Alice;  she  took  to  me  at  once.' 

alice,  tartly,  'Oh,  did  she!' 

colonel.  'Gurgled  at  me — pulled  my  mous- 
tache.' 


44  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

alice.     'I  hope  you  got  on  with  our  dear  son  as 
well.' 

colonel.     'Isn't  he  a  fine  fellow.' 

alice.     'I  have  just  been  smacking  his  face.' 
She  sits  down  and  weeps,  while  her  son 
stands  haughtily  at  attention. 

colonel,    with   a   groan,    'Hst,    I   think   you 
had  better  go  and  get  that  evening  paper.' 

Cosmo  departs  with  his  flag  flying,  and 
the    bewildered    husband    seeks    enlighten- 
ment. 
'Smacked  his  face.     But  why,  Alice?' 

alice.     'He  infuriated  me.' 

colonel.     'He  seems  such  a  good  boy.' 

alice,  the  lowly,  'No  doubt  he  is.     It  must  be 
very  trying  to  have  me  for  a  mother.' 

colonel.     'Perhaps    you    were    too    demon- 
strative ? ' 

alice.     'I    daresay.     A    woman    he    doesn't 
know !     No  wonder  I  disgusted  him.' 

colonel.     'I  can't  make  it  out.' 

alice,  abjectly,   'It 's  quite  simple.     He  saw 
through  me  at  once;  so  did  baby.' 

The  Colonel  flings  up  his  hands.     He  hears 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  45 

whisperings  outside  the  door.     He  peeps  and 
returns  excitedly. 

colonel.  'Alice,  there 's  a  girl  there  with 
Cosmo.' 

alice,  on  her  feet,  with  a  cry,  'Amy.' 

colonel,  trembling,  'I  suppose  so.' 

alice,  gripping  him,  'Robert,  if  she  doesn't 
love  me  I  shall  die.' 

colonel.  'She  will,  she  will.'  But  he  has 
grown  nervous.  'Don't  be  too  demonstra- 
tive, dearest.' 

alice.  'I  shall  try  to  be  cold.  Oh,  Amy,  love 
me.' 

Amy  comes,  her  hair  up,  and  is  at  once  in 
her  father's  arms.  Then  she  wants  to  leap 
into  the  arms  of  the  mother  who  craves  for 
her.  But  Alice  is  afraid  of  being  too  demon- 
strative, and  restrains  herself.  She  presses 
Amy's  hands  only. 

auce.  'It  is  you,  Amy.  How  are  you,  dear?' 
She  ventures  at  last  to  kiss  her.  '  It  is  a  great 
pleasure  to  your  father  and  me  to  see  you 
again.' 

amy,    damped,    'Thank   you,   mother -Of 


46  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

course  I  have  been  looking  forward  to  this 
meeting  very  much  also.' 

alice,  shuddering,  'It  is  very  sweet  of  you  to 
say  so.' 

'Oh  how  cold,'  they  are  both  thinking, 
while  the  Colonel  regards  them  uncomfort- 
ably. Amy  turns  to  him.  She  knows  al- 
ready that  there  is  safe  harbourage  there. 

amy.     'Would  you  have  known  me,  father?' 

colonel.     'I    wonder.     She's    not    like   you, 
Alice?' 

alice.     'No.     7    used    to    be    demonstrative, 
Amy ' 

amy,  eagerly,  '  Were  you  ? ' 

alice,  hurriedly,  'Oh,  I  grew  out  of  it  long  ago.' 

amy,  disappointed  but  sympathetic,  'The  wear 
and  tear  of  life.' 

alice,  wincing,  'No  doubt.' 

amy,    making   conversation,    'You   have   seen 
Cosmo  ?' 

alice.     'Yes.' 

amy,    with    pardonable    curiosity,    'What   did 
you  think  of  him?' 

alice.     'He — seemed  a  nice  boy ' 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  47 

amy,  hurt,  'And  baby?' 
alice.     'Yes — oh  yes.' 
amy.     'Isn't  she  fat?' 
alice.     'Is  she?' 

The  nurse's  head  intrudes. 
nurse.     'If  you  please,  sir — I  think  baby  wants 

you  again.' 

The    Colonel's   face   exudes   complacency, 

but  he  has  the  grace  to  falter. 
colonel.     'What  do  you  think,  Alice?' 
alice,  broken  under  the  blow,  'By  all  means 

go.' 
colonel.     'Won't   you   come   also?     Perhaps 

if  I  am  with  you ' 

alice,  after  giving  him  an  annihilating  look, 

'No,  I — I  had  quite  a  long  time  with  her.' 
The  Colonel  tiptoes  off  to  his  babe  with  a 

countenance  of  foolish  rapture;  and  mother 

and  daughter  are  alone. 
amy,    wishing   her   father    would    come   back, 

'You  can't  have  been  very  long  with  baby, 

mother.' 
alice.     'Quite  long  enough.' 
amy.     'Oh.'     Some  seconds  elapse  before"  she 


48  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

can  speak  again.  'You  will  have  some  tea, 
won't  you  ? ' 

alice.  'Thank  you,  dear.'  They  sit  down  to 
a  chilly  meal. 

amy,  merely  a  hostess,  'Both  milk  and  sugar.' 

alice,  merely  a  guest,  'No  sugar.' 

amy.     'I  hope  you  will  like  the  house,  mother.' 

alice.  'I  am  sure  you  have  chosen  wisely.  I 
see  you  are  artistic' 

amy.  '  The  decoration  isn't  finished.  I  haven't 
quite  decided  what  this  room  is  to  be  like  yet.' 

alice.     'One  never  can  tell.' 

amy,  making  conversation,  'Did  you  notice 
that  there  is  a  circular  drive  to  the  house?' 

alice.     'No,  I  didn't  notice.' 

amy.  'That  would  be  because  the  cab  filled  it; 
but  you  can  see  it  if  you  are  walking.' 

alice.  'I  shall  look  out  for  it.'  Grown  des- 
perate, 'Amy,  have  you  nothing  more  im- 
portant to  say  to  me  ? ' 

amy,  faltering,  'You  mean — the  keys?  Here 
they  are;  all  with  labels  on  them.  And 
here  are  the  tradesmen's  books.  They  are  all 
paid  up  to  Wednesday.'     She  sadly  lets  them 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  49 

go.     They   lie   disregarded   in   her  mother's 

lap. 
alice.     'Is  there  nothing  else?' 
amy,  with  a  flash  of  pride.     '  Perhaps  you  have 

noticed  that  my  hair  is  up?' 
alice.     'It  so  took  me  aback,  Amy,  when  you 

came  into  the  room.     How  long  have  you 

had  it  up?' 
amy,  with  large  eyes,  'Not  very  long.     I — I 

began  only  to-day.' 
alice,  imploringly,  'Dear,  put  it  down  again. 

You  are  not  grown  up.' 
amy,  almost  sternly,   'I  feel  I  am  a  woman 

now.' 
alice,  abject,  'A  woman — you?     Am  I  never 

to  know  my  daughter  as  a  girl ! 
amy.     'You    were    married    before    you    were 

eighteen.' 
alice.     'Ah,  but  I  had  no  mother.     And  even 

at  that  age  I  knew  the  world.' 
amy,  smiling  sadly,  'Oh,  mother,  not  so  well 

as  I  know  it.' 
alice,  sharply,  'What  can  you  know  of  the 

world  ? ' 


50  ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

amy,  shuddering,  'More  I  hope,  mother,  than 
you  will  ever  know.' 

alice,  alarmed,  'My  child!'  Seizing  her: 
'Amy,  tell  me  what  you  know.' 

amy.  '  Don't  ask  me,  please.  I  have  sworn  not 
to  talk  of  it.' 

alice.     '  Sworn  ?     To  whom  ? ' 

amy.     'To  another.' 

Alice,  with  a  sinking,  pounces  on  her 
daughter's  engagement  finger;  but  it  is  un- 
adorned. 

alice.     '  Tell  me,  Amy,  who  is  that  other  ? ' 

amy,  bravely,  'It  is  our  secret.' 

alice.     'Amy,  I  beg  you ' 

amy,  a  heroic  figure,  'Dear  mother,  I  am  so 
sorry  I  must  decline.' 

alice.  'You  defy  me.'  She  takes  hold  of  her 
daughter's  shoulders.  'Amy,  you  drive  me 
frantic.     If  you  don't  tell  me  at  once  I  shall 

insist  on  your  father .     Oh,  you ' 

It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  she  is  shaking 
Amy  when  the  Colonel  once  more  intrudes. 

colonel,  aghast,  'Good  heavens,  Alice,  again! 
Amy,  what  does  this  mean  ? ' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  51 

amy,  as  she  runs,  insulted  and  in  tears,  from  the 
room,  'It  means,  father,  that  I  love  you  very 
much.' 

colonel,  badgered,  'Won't  you  explain, 
Alice?' 

alice.     'Robert,  I  am  in  terror  about  Amy.' 

colonel.     '  Why  ? ' 

alice.  'Don't  ask  me,  dear — not  now — not  till 
I  have  spoken  to  her  again.'  She  clings  to  her 
husband.  'Robert,  there  can't  be  anything 
in  it?' 

colonel.  'If  you  mean  anything  wrong  with 
our  girl,  there  isn't,  memsahib.  WTiat  great 
innocent  eyes  she  has.' 

alice,  eagerly,  'Yes,  yes,  hasn't  she,  Robert.' 

colonel.     'All  's  well  with  Amy,  dear.' 

alice.     'Of  course  it  is.     It  was  silly  of  me 

My  Amy.' 

colonel.     'And  mine.' 

alice.  'But  she  seems  to  me  hard  to  under- 
stand.' With  her  head  on  his  breast,  'I  begin 
to  feel  Robert  that  I  should  have  come  back 
to  my  children  long  ago — or  I  shouldn't  have 
come  back  at  all.' 


52  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

The  Colonel  is  endeavouring  to  soothe  her 
when  Stephen  Rollo  is  shown  in.  He  is  very 
young — too  young  to  be  a  villain,  too  round- 
faced;  but  he  is  all  the  villain  we  can  provide 
for  Amy.  His  entrance  is  less  ostentatious 
than  it  might  be  if  he  knew  of  the  role  that 
has  been  assigned  to  him.  He  thinks  indeed 
(sometimes  with  a  sigh)  that  he  is  a  very 
good  young  man;  and  the  Colonel  and  Alice 
(without  the  sigh)  think  so  too.  After  warm 
greetings : 

steve.  'Alice,  I  daresay  you  wish  me  at 
Jericho;  but  it 's  six  months  since  I  saw  you, 
and  I  couldn't  wait  till  to-morrow.' 

alice,  giving  him  her  cheek,  'I  believe  there's 
someone  in  this  house  glad  to  see  me  at  last; 
and  you  may  kiss  me  for  that,  Steve.' 

steve,  who  has  found  the  cheek  wet,  'You  are 
not  telling  me  they  don't  adore  her?' 

colonel.     'I  can't  understand  it.' 

steve.  'But  by  all  the  little  gods  of  India,  you 
know,  everyone  has  always  adored  Alice.' 

alice,  plaintively,  '  That 's  why  I  take  it  so 
ill,  Steve.' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  53 

steve.  '  Can  I  do  anything  ?  See  here,  if  the 
house  is  upside  down  and  you  would  like  to 
get  rid  of  the  Colonel  for  an  hour  or  two,  sup- 
pose he  dines  with  me  to-night  ?  I  'm  dying 
to  hear  all  the  news  of  the  Punjaub  since  I  left.' 

colonel,  with  an  eye  on  the  nursery  door, 
'No,  Steve,  I — the  fact  is — I  have  an  engage- 
ment.' 

alice,  vindictively,  'He  means  he  can't  leave 
the  baby.' 

steve.     'It  has  taken  to  him  ?' 

colonel,  swaggering,  'Enormously.' 

alice,  whimpering,  'They  all  have.  He  has 
stolen  them  from  me.  He  has  taken  up  his 
permanent  residence  in  the  nursery.' 

colonel.  'Pooh,  fiddlededee.  I  shall  prob- 
ably come  round  to-night  to  see  you  after 
dinner,  Steve,  and  bring  memsahib  with  me. 
In  the  meantime ' 

alice,  whose  mind  is  still  misgiving  her  about 
Amy,  'In  the  meantime  I  want  to  have  a 
word  with  Steve  alone,  Robert.' 

colonel.  'Very  good.'  Stealing  towards  the 
nursery,   'Then   I  shall   pop   in   here  again. 


54  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

How  is  the  tea  business  prospering  in  London, 
Steve?     Glad  you  left  India?' 

steve.  'I  don't  have  half  the  salary  I  had  in 
India,  but  my  health  is  better.  How  are 
rupees  ? ' 

colonel.  'Stop  it.'  He  is  making  a  doll  of 
his  handkerchief  for  the  further  subjugation 
of  Molly.  He  sees  his  happy  face  in  a  looking- 
glass  and  is  ashamed  of  it.  'Alice,  I  wish  it 
was  you  they  loved.' 

alice,  with  withering  scorn,  'Oh,  go  back  to 
your  baby.' 

As  soon  as  the  Colonel  has  gone  she  turns 
anxiously  to  Steve. 

'Steve,  tell  me  candidly  what  you  think  of 
my  girl.' 

steve.     'But  I  have  never  set  eyes  on  her.' 

alice.  'Oh,  I  was  hoping  you  knew  her  well. 
She  goes  sometimes  to  the  Deans  and  the 
Rawlings — all  our  old  Indian  friends ' 

steve.  'So  do  I,  but  we  never  happened  to  be 
there  at  the  same  time.  They  often  speak 
of  her  though.' 

alice.     'What  do  they  say?' 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  55 

steve.     '  They  are  enthusiastic — an  ideal,  sweet 

girl.' 
alice,  relieved,  'I  'm  so  glad.     Now  you  can 

go,  Steve.' 
steve.     'It 's  odd  to  think  of  the  belle  of  the 

Punjaub  as  a  mother  of  a  big  girl.' 
alice.     'Don't;  or  I  shall  begin  to  think  it's 

absurd  myself.' 
steve.     'Surely  the  boy  felt  the  spell.'     She 

shakes  her  head.     'But  the  boys  always  did.' 
alice,  wryly,  'They  were  older  boys.' 
steve.     '  I  believe  I  was  the  only  one  you  never 

flirted  with.' 
alice,  smiling,  'No  one  could  flirt  with  you, 

Steve.' 
steve,  pondering,  'I  wonder  why.'     The  prob- 
lem has  troubled  him  occasionally  for  years. 
alice.     'I  wonder.' 
steve.     T  suppose  there  's  some  sort  of  want 

in  me.' 
alice.     'Perhaps  that 's  it.     No,  it  's  because 

you  were  always  such  a  good  boy.' 
steve,    wincing,    'I    don't    know.     Sometimes 

when  I  saw  you  all  flirting  I  wanted  to  do  it 


5Q  ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

too,  but  I  could  never  think  of  how  to  begin.' 
With  a  sigh,  'I  feel  sure  there's  something 
pleasant  about  it.' 

alice.  'You  're  a  dear,  old  donkey,  Steve, 
but  I  'm  glad  you  came,  it  has  made  the  place 
seem  more  like  home.  All  these  years  I  was 
looking  forward  to  home;  and  now  I  feel  that 
perhaps  it  is  the  place  I  have  left  behind  me.' 
The  joyous  gurgling  of  Molly  draws  them 
to  the  nursery  door;  and  there  they  are  ob- 
served by  Amy  and  Ginevra  who  enter  from 
the  hall.  The  screen  is  close  to  the  two  girls, 
and  they  have  so  often  in  the  last  week  seen 
stage  figures  pop  behind  screens  that,  mechani- 
cally as  it  were,  they  pop  behind  this  one. 

steve,  who  little  knows  that  he  is  now  entering 
on  the  gay  career,  'Listen  to  the  infant.' 

alice.  '  Isn't  it  horrid  of  Robert  to  get  on  with 
her  so  well.     Steve,  say  Robert 's  a  brute.' 

steve,  as  he  bids  her  good  afternoon,  '  Of  course 
he  is;  a  selfish  beast.' 

alice.  '  There  's  another  kiss  to  you  for  saying 
so.'  The  doomed  woman  presents  her  cheek 
again. 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  57 

steve.  'And  you  '11  come  to  me  after  dinner 
to-night,  Alice  ?  Here,  I  '11  leave  my  card, 
I  'm  not  half  a  mile  from  this  street.' 

alice.  'I  mayn't  be  able  to  get  away.  It  will 
depend  on  whether  my  silly  husband  wants 
to  stay  with  his  wretch  of  a  baby.  I'll  see  you 
to  the  door.  Steve,  you  're  much  nicer  than 
Robert.' 

With  these  dreadful  words  she  and  the  liber- 
tine go.  Amy  and  Ginevra  emerge  white  to 
the  lips;  or,  at  least,  they  feel  as  white  as 
that. 

amy,  clinging  to  the  screen  for  support,  'He 
kissed  her.' 

ginevra,  sternly,  'He  called  her  Alice.' 

amy.  'She  is  going  to  his  house  to-night.  An 
assignation.' 

ginevra.  'They  will  be  chambers,  Amy — they 
are  always  chambers.  And  after  dinner,  he 
said — so  he  's  stingy,  too.  Here  is  his  card: 
"Mr.  Stephen  Rollo.'" 

amy.  'I  have  heard  of  him.  They  said  he  was 
a  nice  man.' 

ginevra.     'The  address  is  Kensington   West. 


58  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

That 's  the  new  name  for  West  Ken- 
sington.' 

amy.     'My  poor  father.     It  would  kill  him.' 

ginevra,  the  master  mind,  'He  must  never 
know.' 

amy.     'Ginevra,  what 's  to  be  done?' 

ginevra.  'Thank  heaven,  we  know  exactly 
what  to  do.  It  rests  with  you  to  save 
her.' 

amy,  trembling,  'You  mean  I  must  go — to  his 
chambers  ? ' 

ginevra,  firmly,  'At  any  cost.' 

amy.     'Evening  dress?' 

ginevra.  'It  is  always  evening  dress.  And 
don't  be  afraid  of  his  Man,  dear;  they  always 
have  a  Man.' 

amy.     'Oh,  Ginevra.' 

ginevra.  'First  try  fascination.  You  re- 
member how  they  fling  back  their  cloak — like 
this,  dear.  If  that  fails,  threaten  him.  You 
must  get  back  the  letters.  There  are  always 
letters.' 

amy.  'If  father  should  suspect  and  follow? 
They  usually  do.' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  59 

ginevra.  'Then  you  must  sacrifice  yourself 
for  her.     Does  my  dearest  falter?' 

amy,  pressing  Ginevra's  hand,  'I  will  do  my 
duty.  Oh,  Ginevra,  what  things  there  will 
be  to  put  in  my  diary  to-night.' 


II 


Night  has  fallen,  and  Amy  is  probably  now 
in  her  bedroom,  fully  arrayed  for  her  dreadful 
mission.  She  says  good-bye  to  her  diary — 
perhaps  for  aye.  She  steals  from  the  house—. 
But  we  see  none  of  this.  We  are  transported 
to  a  very  different  scene,  which  (if  one  were 
sufficiently  daring)  would  represent  a  Man's 
Chambers  at  Midnight.  There  is  no  really  valid 
excuse  for  shirking  this  scene,  which  is  so 
popular  that  every  theatre  has  it  stowed  away 
in  readiness;  it  is  capable  of  'setting'  itself 
should  the  stage-hands  forget  to  do  so. 

It  should  be  a  handsome,  sombre  room  in  oak 
and  dark  red,  with  sinister  easy  chairs  and 
couches,  great  curtains  discreetly  drawn,  a  door 
to  enter  by,  a  door  to  hide  by,  a  carelessly 
strewn  table  on  which  to  write  a  letter  reluc- 
tantly to  dictation,  another  table  exquisitely 
decorated  for  supper  for  two,  champagne  in  an 

60 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  61 

ice-bucket,  many  rows  of  books  which  on  close 
examination  will  prove  to  be  painted  wood  (the 
stage  Lotharios  not  being  really  reading  men). 
The  lamps  shed  a  diffused  light,  and  one  of  them 
is  slightly  odd  in  construction,  because  it  is  for 
knocking  over  presently  in  order  to  let  the  lady 
escape  unobserved.  Through  this  room  moves 
occasionally  the  man's  Man,  sleek,  imperturb- 
able, accouncing  the  lady,  the  lady's  husband, 
the  woman  friend  who  is  to  save  them;  he  says 
little,  but  is  responsible  for  all  the  arrange- 
ments going  right;  before  the  curtain  rises 
he  may  be  conceived  trying  the  lamp  and 
making  sure  that  the  lady  will  not  stick  in  the 
door. 

That  is  how  it  ought  to  be,  that  is  how  Amy 
has  seen  it  several  times  in  the  past  week;  and 
now  that  we  come  to  the  grapple  we  wish  we 
could  give  you  what  you  want,  for  you  do  want 
it,  you  have  been  used  to  it,  and  you  will  feel 
that  you  are  looking  at  a  strange  middle  act 
without  it.  But  Steve  cannot  have  such  a  room 
as  this,  he  has  only  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
a  year,  including  the  legacy  from  his  aunt.    Be- 


G2  ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

sides,  though  he  is  to  be  a  Lothario  (in  so  far  as 
we  can  manage  it)  he  is  not  at  present  aware  of 
this,  and  has  made  none  of  the  necessary  ar- 
rangements :  if  one  of  his  lamps  is  knocked  over 
it  will  certainly  explode;  and  there  cannot  be  a 
secret  door  without  its  leading  into  the  adjoin- 
ing house.  (Theatres  keep  special  kinds  of 
architects  to  design  their  rooms.)  There  is 
indeed  a  little  cupboard  where  his  crockery 
is  kept,  and  if  Amy  is  careful  she  might  be 
able  to  squeeze  in  there.  We  cannot  even 
make  the  hour  midnight;  it  is  eight-thirty, 
quite  late  enough  for  her  to  be  out  alone. 

Steve  has  just  finished  dinner,  in  his  comfort- 
able lodgings.  He  is  not  even  in  evening 
dress,  but  he  does  wear  a  lounge  jacket,  which 
we  devoutly  hope  will  give  him  a  rakish  air  to 
Amy's  eyes.  He  would  undoubtedly  have  put 
on  evening  dress  if  he  had  known  she  was 
coming.  His  man,  Richardson,  is  waiting 
on  him.  When  we  wrote  that  we  deliberated 
a  long  time.  It  has  an  air,  and  with  a 
little  low  cunning  we  could  make  you  think 
to    the    very    end    that    Richardson    was    a 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  63 

male.  But  if  the  play  is  acted  and  you  go  to 
see  it,  you  would  be  disappointed.  Steve,  the 
wretched  fellow,  never  had  a  Man,  and  Richard- 
son is  only  his  landlady's  slavey,  aged  about 
fifteen,  and  wistful  at  sight  of  food.  We  intro- 
duce her  gazing  at  Steve's  platter  as  if  it  were 
a  fairy  tale.  Steve  has  often  caught  her  with 
this  rapt  expression  on  her  face,  and  sometimes, 
as  now,  an  engaging  game  ensues. 

richardson,  blinking,  'Are  you  finished, 
sir?'  To  those  who  know  the  game  this 
means,  'Are  you  to  leave  the  other  chop — 
the  one  sitting  lonely  and  lovely  beneath  the 
dish-cover  ? ' 

steve.  'Yes.'  In  the  game  this  is  merely  a 
tantaliser. 

richardson,  almost  sure  that  he  is  in  the  right 
mood  and  sending  out  a  feeler,  'Then  am  I 
to  clear?' 

steve.  'No.'  This  is  intended  to  puzzle  her, 
but  it  is  a  move  he  has  made  so  often  that  she 
understands  its  meaning  at  once. 

richardson,  in  entranced  giggles,  'He,  he,,  he!' 


64  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

steve,  vacating  his  seat,  'Sit  down.' 

Richardson.     '  Again  ? ' 

steve.  'Sit  down,  and  clear  the  enemy  out  of 
that  dish.' 

By  the  enemy  he  means  the  other  chop: 
what  a  name  for  a  chop.  Steve  plays  the  part 
of  butler.  He  brings  her  a  plate  from  the 
little  cupboard. 

'Dinner  is  served,  madam.' 

richardson,  who  will  probably  be  a  great 
duchess  some  day, '  I  don't  mind  if  I  does  have 
a  snack.'  She  places  herself  at  the  table 
after  what  she  conceives  to  be  the  manner  of 
the  genteelly  gluttonous;  then  she  quakes 
a  little.  'If  Missis  was  to  catch  me.'  She 
knows  that  Missis  is  probably  sitting  down- 
stairs with  her  arms  folded,  hopeful  of  the 
chop  for  herself. 

steve.     'You  tuck  in  and  I  '11  keep  watch.' 
He  goes   to   the   door   to  peer   over   the 
banisters;  it  is  all  part  of  the  game.     Richard- 
son promptly  tucks  in  with  horrid  relish. 

richardson.  'What  makes  you  so  good  to  me, 
sir?' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  65 

steve.     'A  gentleman  is  always  good  to  a  lady.' 
Richardson,  preening,  'A  lady?     Go  on/ 
steve.     'And  when  I  found  that  at  my  din- 
ner hour  you  were  subject  to  growing  pains 
I    remembered    my    own    youth.     Potatoes, 
madam  ? ' 
richardson,  neatly,  'If  quite  convenient.' 

The  kindly  young  man  surveys  her  for 
some  time  in  silence  while  she  has  various 
happy  adventures. 
steve.     'Can  I  smoke,  Richardson?' 
richardson.     'Of  course  you  can  smoke.     I 

have  often  seen  you  smoking.' 
steve,   little  aware  of  what  an  evening  the 
sex  is  to  give  him,  'But  have  I  your  per- 
mission ? ' 
richardson.     'You  're  at  your  tricks  again.' 
steve,  severely,  'Have  you  forgotten  already 

how  I  told  you  a  true  lady  would  answer  ? ' 
richardson.     'I  minds,  but  it  makes  me  that 
shy.'     She  has,  however,  a  try  at  it.     'Do 
smoke,  Mr.  Rollo,  I  loves  the  smell  of  it.' 

Steve  lights  his  pipe;  no  real  villain  smokes 
a  pipe. 


66  ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

steve.     'Smoking  is  a  blessed  companion  to  a 

lonely  devil  like  myself.' 
richardson.     ' Yes,  sir.'     Sharply, 'Would  you 

say  devil  to  a  real  lady,  sir  ? ' 

Steve,  it  may  be  hoped,  is  properly  confused, 

but  here  the  little  idyll  of  the  chop  is  brought 

to  a  close  by  the  tinkle  of  a  bell.     Richardson 

springs  to  attention. 

'That  will  be  the  friends  you  are  expecting?' 
steve.     'I  was  only  half  expecting  them,  but 

I  daresay  you  are  right.     Have  you  finished, 

Richardson  ? ' 
richardson.    'Thereabouts.    Would  a  real  lady 

lick  the  bone — in  company  I  mean  ? ' 
steve.     'Y"ou  know,  I  hardly  think  so.' 
richardson.     'Then  I  'm  finished.' 
steve,  disappearing,   'Say  I  '11  be  back  in  a 

jiffy.     I  need  brushing,  Richardson.' 

Richardson,  no  longer  in  company,  is  about 

to  hold  a  last  friendly  communion  with  the 

bone  when   there  is   a  knock   at  the  door, 

followed  by  the  entrance  of  a  mysterious  lady. 

You  could  never  guess  who  the  lady  is,  so  we 

may  admit  at  once  that  it  is  Miss  Amy  Grey. 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  67 

Amy  is  in  evening  dress — her  only  evening 
dress — and  over  it  is  the  cloak,  which  she  is 
presently  to  fling  back  with  staggering  effect. 
Just  now  her  pale  face  is  hiding  behind  the 
collar  of  it,  for  she  is  quaking  inwardly  though 
strung  up  to  a  terrible  ordeal.  The  room  is  not 
as  she  expected,  but  she  knows  that  men  are 
cunning. 

amy,  frowning,  'Are  these  Mr.Rollo's  chambers  ? 
The  woman  told  me  to  knock  at  this  door/ 

She  remembers  with  a  certain  satisfaction 
that  the  woman  had  looked  at  her  suspiciously. 

Richardson,  the  tray  in  her  hand  to  give  her 

confidence,  'Yes,  ma'am.  He  will  be  down  in  a 

minute,  ma'am.    He  is  expecting  you,  ma'am.' 

Expecting  her,   is   he!      Amy   smiles   the 

bitter  smile  of  knowledge. 

amy.     'We  shall   see.'     She  looks   about  her. 
Sharply,  'Where  is  his  man?' 

Richardson,  with  the  guilt  of  the  chop  on  her 
conscience,  '  What  man  ? ' 

amy,  brushing  this  subterfuge  aside,  'His  man. 
They  always  have  a  man.' 

Richardson,  with  spirit,  'He  is  a  man  himself.' 


68  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

amy.     'Come,  girl;  who  waits  on  him? ' 

RICHARDSON.      '  Me. ' 

amy,  rather  daunted, '  No  man  ?  Very  strange.' 
Fortunately  she  sees  the  two  plates.  'Stop.' 
Her  eyes  glisten.  'Two  persons  have  been 
dining  here ! '  Richardson  begins  to  tremble. 
'Why  do  you  look  so  scared  ?  Was  the  other 
a  gentleman  ? ' 

richardson.     'Oh,  ma'am.' 

amy,  triumphantly,  'It  was  not!'  But  her 
triumph  gives  way  to  bewilderment,  for  she 
knows  that  when  she  left  the  house  her  mother 
was  still  in  it.  Then  who  can  the  visitor  have 
been?  'Why  are  you  trying  to  hide  that 
plate  ?  Was  it  a  lady  ?  Girl,  tell  me  was  it 
a  lady?' 

richardson,  at  bay,  'He — he  calls  her  a  lady.' 

amy,  the  omniscient,  'But  you  know  better  !' 

richardson.  '  Of  course  I  know  she  ain't  a  real 
lady.' 

amy.  'Another  woman.  And  not  even  a 
lady.'  She  has  no  mercy  on  the  witness. 
'Tell  me,  is  this  the  first  time  she  has  dined 
here?' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  69 

richardson,  fixed  by  Amy's  eye,  'No,  ma'am 

— I  meant  no  harm,  ma'am.' 
amy.     'I  am  not  blaming  you.     Can  you  re- 
member how  often  she  has  dined  here  ? ' 
richardson.     'Well  can  I  remember.     Three 

times  last  week.' 
amy.     'Three  times  in  one  week,  monstrous.' 
richardson,  with  her  gown  to  her  eyes,  'Yes, 

ma'am;  I  see  it  now.' 
amy,  considering  and  pouncing,  'Do  you  think 

she  is  an  adventuress?' 
richardson.     '  What 's  that  ? ' 
amy.     'Does  she  smoke  cigarettes?' 
richardson,  rather  spiritedly,  'No,  she  don't.' 
amy,  taken  aback,  'Not  an  adventuress.' 

She  wishes  Ginevra  were  here  to  help  her. 
She  draws  upon  her  stock  of  knowledge.  '  Can 
she  be  secretly  married  to  him  ?  A  wife  of  the 
past  turned  up  to  blackmail  him  ?  That 's 
very  common.' 
richardson.  'Oh, ma'am,  you  are  terrifying  me.' 
amy.  'I  wasn't  talking  to  you.  You  may  go. 
Stop.  How  long  had  she  been  here  before 
I  came?' 


70  ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

Richardson.  'She — Her  what  you  are  speak- 
ing about ' 

amy.  'Come,  I  must  know.'  The  terrible  ad- 
mission refuses  to  pass  Richardson's  lips,  and 
of  a  sudden  Amy  has  a  dark  suspicion.  'Has 
she  gone  !     Is  she  here  now  ? ' 

richardson.  'It  was  just  a  chop.  What 
makes  you  so  grudging  of  a  chop  ? ' 

amy.  'I  don't  care  what  they  ate.  Has  she 
gone  ? ' 

richardson.     'Oh,  ma'am.' 

The  little  maid,  bearing  the  dishes,  backs 
to  the  door,  opens  it  with  her  foot,  and  escapes 
from  this  terrible  visitor.  The  drawn  cur- 
tains attract  Amy's  eagle  eye,  and  she  looks 
behind  them.  There  is  no  one  there.  She 
pulls  open  the  door  of  the  cupboard  and  says 
firmly,  'Come  out.'  No  one  comes.  She 
peeps  into  the  cupboard  and  finds  it  empty. 
A  cupboard  and  no  one  in  it.  How  strange. 
She  sits  down  almost  in  tears,  wishing  very 
much  for  the  counsel  of  Ginevra.  Thus 
Steve  finds  her  when  he  returns. 

steve.     'I  'm  awfully  glad,  Alice,  that  you ' 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  71 

He  stops  abruptly  at  sight  of  a  strange 
lady.  As  for  Amy,  the  word  'Alice'  brings 
her  to  her  feet. 

amy.     'Sir.'     A  short  remark  but  withering. 

steve.     'I  beg  your  pardon.     I  thought — the 

fact  is  that  I  expected You  see  you  are 

a  stranger  to  me — my  name  is  Rollo — you 
are  not  calling  on  me,  are  you?'  Amy  in- 
clines her  head  in  a  way  that  Ginevra  and 
she  have  practised.  Then  she  flings  back 
her  cloak  as  suddenly  as  an  expert  may  open 
an  umbrella.  Having  done  this  she  awaits 
results.  Steve,  however,  has  no  knowledge 
of  how  to  play  his  part;  he  probably  favours 
musical  comedy.  He  says  lamely:  'I  still 
think  there  must  be  some  mistake.' 

amy,  in  italics,  'There  is  no  mistake.' 

steve.     'Then  is  there  anything  I  can  do  for 

you?' 

amy,  ardently,  'You  can  do  so  much.' 
steve.     'Perhaps  if  you  will  sit  down ' 


Amy  decides  to  humour  him  so  far.  She 
would  like  to  sit  in  the  lovely  stage  way,  when 
they  know  so  precisely  where  the  chair  is  that 


72  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

they  can  sit  without  a  glance  at  it.  But  she 
dare  not,  though  Ginevra  would  have  risked 
it.  Steve  is  emboldened  to  say : '  By  the  way, 
you  have  not  told  me  your  name.' 

amy,  nervously,  'If  you  please,  do  you  mind 
my  not  telling  it  ? ' 

steve.  'Oh,  very  well.'  First  he  thinks  there 
is  something  innocent  about  her  request,  and 
then  he  wonders  if  'innocent'  is  the  right 
word.  'Well,  your  business,  please?'  he 
demands,  like  the  man  of  the  world  he  hopes 
some  day  to  be. 

amy.     '  Why  are  you  not  in  evening  dress  ? ' 

steve,  taken  aback,  'Does  that  matter?' 

amy,  though  it  still  worries  her,  'I  suppose 
not.' 

steve,  with  growing  stiffness,  'Your  business, 
if  you  will  be  so  good.' 

Amy  advances  upon  him.  She  has  been 
seated  in  any  case  as  long  as  they  ever  do  sit 
on  the  stage  on  the  same  chair. 

amy.     'Stephen  Rollo,  the  game  is  up.' 

She  likes  this;  she  will  be  able  to  go  on 
now. 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  73 

steve,  recoiling  guiltily,  or  so  she  will  describe 
it  to  Ginevra,  'What  on  earth ' 

amy,  suffering  from  a  determination  from  the 
mouth  of  phrases  she  has  collected  in  five 
theatres,  'A  chance  discovery,  Mr.  Stephen 
Rollo,  has  betrayed  your  secret  to  me.' 

steve,  awed,  'My  secret?  What  is  it?'  He 
rushes  rapidly  through  a  well-spent  youth. 

amy,  risking  a  good  deal,  'It  is  this:  that 
woman  is  your  wife.'  * 

steve.     '  What  woman?' 

amy.  'The  woman  who  dined  with  you  here 
this  evening.' 

steve.     'With  me?' 

amy,  icily,  'This  is  useless;  as  I  have  already 
said,  the  game  is  up.' 

steve,  glancing  in  a  mirror  to  make  sure  he  is 
still  the  same  person,  'You  look  a  nice  girl, 
but  dash  it  all.  Whom  can  you  be  taking 
me  for?     Tell  me  some  more  about  myself.' 

amy.  'Please  desist.  I  know  everything,  and 
in  a  way  I  am  sorry  for  you.  All  these  years 
you  have  kept  the  marriage  a  secret,  for  she 
is  a  horrid  sort  of  woman,  and  now  she  has 


74  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

come  back  to  blackmail  you.     That,  how- 
ever, is  not  my  affair.' 

steve,  with  unexpected  power  of  irony,  'Oh, 
I  wouldn't  say  that.' 

amy.  'I  do  say  it,  Mr.  Stephen  Rollo.  I  shall 
keep  your  secret ' 

steve.     '  Ought  you  ? ' 

amy.      ' —    on    one    condition,    and    on    one 
condition    only,    that    you    return    me    the 
^letters.' 

steve.     'The  letters?' 

amy.     'The  letters.' 

Steve  walks  the  length  of  his  room,  regard- 
ing her  sideways. 

steve.  'Look  here,  honestly  I  don't  know 
what  you  are  talking  about.  You  know,  I 
could  be  angry  with  you,  but  I  feel  sure  you 
are  sincere.' 

amy.     'Indeed  I  am.' 

steve.  'Well,  then,  I  assure  you  on  my  word 
of  honour  that  no  lady  was  dining  with  me 
this  evening,  and  that  I  have  no  wife.' 

amy,  blankly,  'No  wife!  You  are  sure?  Oh, 
think.' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 


steve.     'I  swear  it.' 

AMY.  'I  am  very  sorry.'  She  sinks  dis- 
piritedly into  a  chair. 

steve.  'Sorry  I  have  no  wife?'  She  nods 
through  her  tears.  'Don't  cry.  How  could 
my  having  a  wife  be  a  boon  to  you?' 

amy,  plaintively,  'It  would  have  put  you  in 
the  hollow  of  my  hands.' 

steve,  idiotically,  'And  they  are  nice  hands, 
too.' 

amy,  with  a  consciousness  that  he  might  once 
upon  a  time  have  been  saved  by  a  good 
woman,  'I  suppose  that  is  how  you  got 
round  her.' 

steve,  stamping  his  foot,  'Haven't  I  told  you 
that  she  doesn't  exist  ? ' 

amy.     'I  don't  mean  her — I  mean  her ' 

He  decides  that  she  is  a  little  crazy. 

steve,  soothingly,  '  Come  now,  we  won't  go  into 
that  again.  It  was  just  a  mistake;  and  now 
that  it  is  all  settled  and  done  with,  I  '11  tell 
you  what  we  shall  do.     You  will  let  me  get 

you  a  cab '     She  shakes  her  head.     'I 

promise  not  to  listen  to  the  address;  and 


76  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

after  you  have  had  a  good  night  you — you 

will  see  things  differently.' 
amy,  ashamed  of  her  momentary  weakness,  and 

deciding  not  to  enter  it  in  the  diary,  'You 

are  very  clever,  Mr.  Stephen  Rollo,  but  I 

don't  leave  this  house  without  the  letters.' 
steve,  groaning,  'Are  they  your  letters?' 
amy.     'How  dare  you  !     They  are  the  letters 

written  to  you,  as  you  well  know,  by ' 

steve,  eagerly,  'Yes?' 

amy.     ' —  by  a  certain  lady.    Spare  me  the  pain, 

if  you  are  a  gentleman,  of  having  to  mention 

her  name.' 
steve,  sulkily,  'Oh,  all  right.' 
amy.     'She   is   to   pass   out   of   your   life   to- 
night.    To-morrow  you  go  abroad  for  a  long 

time.' 
steve,    with   excusable   warmth,    'Oh,    do   I! 

Where  am  I  going?' 

amy.     'We  thought ' 

STEVE.     'We?' 

amy.     'A  friend  and  I  who  have  been  talking 

it  over.     We   thought  of   Africa — to  shoot 

big  game.' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  77 

steve,    humouring   her,    'You    must   be   very 

fond  of  this  lady.' 
amy.     'I  would  die  for  her.' 
steve,  feeling  that  he  ought  really  to  stick  up  a 

little  for  himself,  'After  all,  am  I  so  dread- 
ful ?     Why  shouldn't  she  love  me  ? ' 
amy.     'A  married  woman!' 
steve,  gratified,  'Married?' 
amy.     'How  can  you  play   with  me  so,  sir? 

She  is  my  mother.' 
steve.     'Your  mother?     Fond  of  me!' 
amy.     'How  dare  you  look  pleased.' 
steve.     'I  'm  not — I  didn't  mean  to.     I  say,  I 

wish  you  would  tell  me  who  you  are.' 
amy.     'As  if  you  didn't  know.' 
steve,   in   a   dream,    'Fond   of   me!     I   can't 

believe  it.'     Rather  wistfully:     'How  could 

she  be?' 
amy.     'It  was  all  your  fault.     Such  men  as 

you  —  pitiless  men  —  you  made  her  love 

you.' 
steve,  still  elated,  'Do  you  think  I  am  that 

kind  of  man?' 
amy.     'Oh,  sir,  let  her  go.     You  are  stTong 


78  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

and  she  is  weak.  Think  of  her  poor  husband, 
and  give  me  back  the  letters.' 

steve.     'On  my  word  of  honour '     Here 

arrives  Richardson,  so  anxious  to  come  that 
she  is  propelled  into  the  room  like  a  ball. 
'What  is  it?' 

Richardson.  'A  gentleman  downstairs,  sir, 
wanting  to  see  you.' 

amy,  saying  the  right  thing  at  once,  'He  must 
not  find  me  here.     My  reputation ' 

steve.  'I  can  guess  who  it  is.  Let  me  think.' 
He  is  really  glad  of  the  interruption.  'See 
here,  I  '11  keep  him  downstairs  for  a  moment. 
Richardson,  take  this  lady  to  the  upper  land- 
ing until  I  have  brought  him  in.  Then  show 
her  out.' 

Richardson.     'Oh,  lor'.' 

amy,  rooting  herself  to  the  floor,  'The 
letters!' 

steve,  as  he  goes,  'Write  to  me,  write  to  me. 
I  must  know  more  of  this.' 

Richardson.     'Come  quick,  Miss.' 

amy,  fixing  her,  'You  are  not  deceiving  me? 
You  are  sure  it  isn't  a  lady  ? ' 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  79 

richardson.     'Yes,   Miss — he   said   his   name 

was  Colonel  Grey.' 

Ginevra  would  have  known  that  it  must  be 

the  husband,  but  for  the  moment  Amy  is 

appalled. 
amy,  quivering,  '  Can  he  suspect ! ' 
richardson,  who  has  her  own  troubles,  'About 

the  chop?' 
amy.     'If  she  should  come  while  he  is  here !' 
richardson.     'Come  along,  Miss.     What 's  the 

matter  ? ' 
amy.     'I   can't   go   away.     I   am   not   going.' 

She  darts  into  the  cupboard.     It  is  as  if  she 

had  heard  Ginevra  cry,  'Amy,  the  cupboard.' 
richardson,  tugging  at  the  closed  door,  '  Come 

out  of  that.     I  promised  to  put  you  on  the 

upper  landing.     You  can't  go  hiding  in  there, 

lady.' 
amy,    peeping   out,    'I    can    and    I    will.     Let 

go  the  door.     I  came  here  expecting  to  have 

to  hide.' 

She  closes  the  door  as  her  father  enters  with 

Steve.     The  Colonel  is  chatting,  but  his  host 

sees  that  Richardson  is  in  distress. 


80  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

steve,  who  thinks  that  the  lady  has  been  got 

rid  of,  'What  is  it?' 
richardson.     'Would  you  speak  with   me  a 

minute,  sir?' 
steve,  pointedly,  'Go  away.     You  have  some 

work  to  do  on  the  stair.     Go  and^do  it.     I  'm 

sorry,  Colonel,  that  you  didn't  bring  Alice 

with  you.' 
colonel.     'She  is  coming  on  later.' 
steve.     'Good.' 
colonel.     'I    have    come    from    Pall    Mall. 

Wanted  to  look  in  at  the  club  once  more,  so  I 

had  a  chop  there.' 
richardson,  with  the  old  sinking,   'A  chop!' 

She  departs  with  her  worst  suspicions  con- 
firmed. 
steve,  as  they  pull  their  chairs  nearer  to  the 

fire,  '  Is  Alice  coming  on  from  home  ? ' 
colonel.     'Yes,  that  's  it.'     He  stretches  out 

his    legs.      'Steve,    home    is    the   best    club 

in    the    world.     Such    jolly    fellows    all    the 

members ! ' 
steve.     'You  haven't  come  here  to  talk  about 

your  confounded  baby  again,  have  you?' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  81 

colonel,  apologetically,  'If  you  don't  mind.' 
steve.     'I  do  mind.' 

colonel.     'But  if  you  feel  you  can  stand  it/ 
steve.     'You  are  my  guest,  so  go  ahead/ 
colonel.     'She  fell  asleep,  Steve,  holding  my 

finger.' 
steve.     'Which  finger?' 
colonel.     'This    one.     As    Alice    would    say, 

Soldiering  done,  baby  begun/ 
steve.     'Poor  old  chap.' 
colonel.     '  I  have  been  through  a  good  deal  in 

my  time,  Steve,  but  that  is  the  biggest  thing 

I  have  ever  done/ 
steve.     '  Have  a  cigar  ? ' 
colonel.     'Brute!     Thanks/ 

Here   Amy,    who   cannot   hear   when   the 

door  is  closed,  opens  it  slightly.     The  Colonel 

is  presently  aware  that  Steve  is  silently  smiling 

to  himself.    The  Colonel  makes  a  happy  guess. 

'  Thinking  of  the  ladies,  Steve  ? ' 
steve,    blandly,    'To    tell    the    truth,    I    was 

thinking  of  one.' 
colonel.     'She  seems  to  be  a  nice  girl/ 
steve.     'She  is  not  exactly  a  girl.' 


82  ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

colonel,  twinkling,  'Very  fond  of  you,  Steve?' 

steve.  'I  have  the  best  of  reasons  for  knowing 
that  she  is.'  We  may  conceive  Amy's  feelings 
though  we  cannot  see  her.  'On  my  soul, 
Colonel,  I  think  it  is  the  most  romantic  affair 
I  ever  heard  of.  I  have  waited  long  for  a 
romance  to  come  into  my  life,  but  by  Javers, 
it  has  come  at  last.' 

colonel.  'Graters,  Steve.  Does  her  family 
like  it?' 

steve,  cheerily,  'No,  they  are  furious.' 

colonel.     'But  why?' 

steve,  judiciously,  'A  woman's  secret,  Colonel.' 

colonel.  'Ah,  the  plot  thickens.  Do  I  know 
her?' 

steve.     'Not  you.' 

colonel.     'I  mustn't  ask  her  name?' 

steve,  with  presence  of  mind,  'I  have  a  very 
good  reason  for  not  telling  you  her  name.' 

colonel.  'So?  And  she  is  not  exactly 
young?     Twice  your  age,  Steve?' 

steve,  with  excusable  heat,  'Not  at  all.  But 
she  is  of  the  age  when  a  woman  knows  her  own 
mind — which  makes  the  whole  affair  extra- 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  83 

ordinarily  flattering.'  With  undoubtedly  a 
shudder  of  disgust  Amy  closes  the  cupboard 
door.  Steve  continues  to  behave  in  the  most 
gallant  manner.  'You  must  not  quiz  me, 
Colonel,  for  her  circumstances  are  such  that 
her  partiality  for  me  puts  her  in  a  dangerous 
position,  and  I  would  go  to  the  stake  rather 
than  give  her  away.' 

colonel.  'Quite  so.'  He  makes  obeisance  to 
the  beauty  of  the  sentiment,  and  then  pro- 
ceeds to  an  examination  of  the  hearthrug. 

steve.     '  What  are  you  doing  ? ' 

colonel.  'Trying  to  find  out  for  myself 
whether  she  comes  here.' 

steve.  'How  can  you  find  that  out  by  crawl- 
ing about  my  carpet?' 

colonel.  '  I  am  looking  for  hair-pins ' — trium- 
phantly holding  up  a  lady's  glove — 'and  I 
have  found  one  ! ' 

They  have  been  too  engrossed  to  hear  the 
bell  ring,  but  now  voices  are  audible. 

steve.     'There  is  some  one  coming  up.' 

colonel.  'Perhaps  it  is  she,  Steve  !  No,  that 
is  Alice's  voice.     Catch,  you  scoundrel,'  and 


84  ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

lie  tosses  him  the  glove.  Alice  is  shown  in, 
and  is  warmly  acclaimed.  She  would  not  feel 
so  much  at  ease  if  she  knew  who,  hand  on 
heart,  has  recognised  her  through  the  pantry 
key-hole. 

steve,  as  he  makes  Alice  comfortable  by  the 
fire,  'How  did  you  leave  them  at  home?' 

alice,  relapsing  into  gloom,  'All  hating  me.' 

steve.  'This  man  says  that  home  is  the  most 
delightful  club  in  the  world.' 

alice.  'I  am  not  a  member;  I  have  been 
blackballed  by  my  own  baby.  Robert,  I 
dined  in  state  with  Cosmo,  and  he  was  so 
sulky  that  he  ate  his  fish  without  salt  rather 
than  ask  me  to  pass  it.' 

colonel.     'Where  was  Amy?' 

alice.  'Amy  said  she  had  a  headache  and  went 
to  bed.  I  spoke  to  her  through  the  door 
before  I  came  out,  but  she  wouldn't  answer.' 

colonel.     '  Why  didn't  you  go  in,  memsahib  ? ' 

alice.  '  I  did  venture  to  think  of  it,  but  she  had 
locked  the  door.  Robert,  I  really  am  worried 
about  Amy.  She  seems  to  me  to  behave 
oddly.     There  can't  be  anything  wrong?' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  85 

colonel.     'Of  course  not,  Alice — eh,  Steve?' 

steve.     'Bless  you,  no.' 

alice,  smiling,  '  It 's  much  Steve  knows  about 
women.' 

steve.  'I  'in  not  so  unattractive  to  women, 
Alice,  as  you  think.' 

alice.     'Listen  to  him,  Robert!' 

colonel.  'What  he  means,  my  dear,  is  that 
you  should  see  him  with  elderly  ladies.' 

alice.  'Steve,  this  to  people  who  know  you.' 
Here  something  happens  to  Amy's  skirt. 
She  has  opened  the  door  to  hear,  then  in  alarm 
shut  it,  leaving  a  fragment  of  skirt  caught 
in  the  door.  There,  unseen,  it  bides  its 
time. 

steve,  darkly,  'Don't  be  so  sure  you  know 
me,  Alice.' 

colonel,  enjoying  himself,  'Let  us  tell  her, 
Steve  !     I  am  dying  to  tell  her.' 

steve,  grandly,  'No,  no.' 

colonel.  'We  mustn't  tell  you,  Alice,  because 
it  is  a  woman's  secret — a  poor  little  fond 
elderly  woman.  Our  friend  is  very  proud  of 
his    conquest.     See   how   he   is    ruffling   his 


86  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

feathers.     I    shouldn't    wonder    you    know, 
though  you  and  I  are  in  the  way  to-night.' 

But  Alice's  attention  is  directed  in  another 
direction:  to  a  little  white  object  struggling 
in  the  clutches  of  a  closed  door  at  the  back 
of  the  room.  Steve  turns  to  see  what  she  is 
looking  at,  and  at  the  same  moment  the  door 
opens  sufficiently  to  allow  a  pretty  hand  to 
obtrude,  seize  the  kitten,  or  whatever  it  was, 
and  softly  reclose  the  door.  For  one  second 
Alice  did  think  it  might  be  a  kitten,  but  she 
knows  now  that  it  is  part  of  a  woman's  dress. 
As  for  Steve  thus  suddenly  acquainted  with 
his  recent  visitor's  whereabouts,  his  mouth 
opens  wider  than  the  door.  He  appeals 
mutely  to  Alice  not  to  betray  his  strange 
secret  to  the  Colonel. 

alice,  with  dancing  eyes,  'May  I  look  about 
me,  Steve?  I  have  been  neglecting  your 
room  shamefully.' 

steve,  alarmed,  for  he  knows  the  woman, 
'Don't  get  up,  Alice;  there  is  really  nothing 
to  see.'  But  she  is  already  making  the  journey 
of  the  room,  and  drawing  nearer  to  the  door. 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  87 

Alice,  playing  with  him,  'I  like  your  clock.' 
steve.     'It  is  my  landlady's.     Nearly  all  the 

things  are  hers.     Do  come  back  to  the  fire.' 
Alice.     'Don't    mind    me.     What    does    this 

door  lead  into?' 
steve.     'Only  a  cupboard.' 
alice.     'What  do  you  keep  in  it?' 
steve.     'Merely  crockery — that  sort  of  thing.' 
alice.     'I  should  like  to  see  your  crockery, 

Steve.     Not  one  little  bit  of  china?     May  I 

peep  in  ? ' 
colonel,  who  is  placidly  smoking,  with  his  back 

to  the  scene  of  the  drama,  'Don't  mind  her, 

Steve;  she  never  could  see  a  door  without 

itching  to  open  it.' 

Alice  opens  the  door,  and  sees  Amy  standing 

there  with  her  finger  to  her  lips,  just  as  they 

stood  in  all  the  five  plays.     Ginevra  could  not 

have  posed  her  better. 

'Well,   have  you   found   anything,   mem- 
sahib?' 

It  has  been  the  great  shock  of  Alice's  life, 

and  she  sways.     But  she  shuts  the  door  before 

answering  him. 


88  ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

alice,  with  a  terrible  look  at  Steve,  'Just  a 
dark  little  cupboard.'  Steve,  not  aware  that 
it  is  her  daughter  who  is  in  there,  wonders 
why  the  lighter  aspect  of  the  incident  has 
ceased  so  suddenly  to  strike  her.  She  re- 
turns to  the  fire,  but  not  to  her  chair.  She 
puts  her  arms  round  the  neck  of  her  hus- 
band; a  great  grief  for  him  is  welling  up  in 
her  breast. 

colonel,  so  long  used  to  her  dear  impulsive 
ways,  'Hullo!  We  mustn't  let  on  that  we 
are  fond  of  each  other  before  company.' 

steve,  meaning  well,  though  he  had  better  have 
held  his  tongue,  'I  don't  count;  I  am  such 
an  old  friend.' 

alice,  slowly,  '  Such  an  old  friend  ! '  Her  hus- 
band sees  that  she  is  struggling  with  some 
emotion. 

colonel.  'Worrying  about  the  children  still, 
Alice?' 

alice,  glad  to  break  down  openly,  'Yes,  yes, 
I  can't  help  it,  Robert.' 

colonel,  petting  her,  '  There,  there,  you  foolish 
woman.     Joy  will  come  in  the  morning;  I 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  89 

never  was  surer  of  anything.     Would  you  like 
ine  to  take  you  home  now  ? ' 

alice.     'Home.     But,  yes,  I — let  us  go  home.' 

colonel.     '  Can  we  have  a  cab,  Steve  ? ' 

steve.  'I  '11  go  down  and  whistle  one.  Alice, 
I  'm  awfully  sorry  that  you — that  I ' 

alice.     'Please,  a  cab.' 

But  though  she  is  alone  with  her  husband 
now  she  does  not  know  what  she  wants  to  say 
to  him.  She  has  a  passionate  desire  that  he 
should  not  learn  who  is  behind  that  door. 

colonel,  pulling  her  toward  him,  'I  think  it 
is  about  Amy  that  you  worry  most/ 

alice.     'Why  should  I,  Robert?' 

colonel.     'Not  a  jot  of  reason.' 

alice.  'Say  again,  Robert,  that  everything  is 
sure  to  come  right  just  as  we  planned  it 
would.' 

colonel.     'Of  course  it  will." 

alice.  'Robert,  there  is  something  I  want  to 
tell  you.  You  know  how  dear  my  children 
are  to  me,  but  Amy  is  the  dearest  of  all.  She 
is  dearer  to  me,  Robert,  than  you  yourself.' 

colonel.     'Very  well,  memsahib.' 


90  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

alice.  'Robert  dear,  Amy  has  come  to  a  time 
in  her  life  when  she  is  neither  quite  a  girl  nor 
quite  a  woman.  There  are  dark  places  before 
us  at  that  age  through  which  we  have  to  pick 
our  way  without  much  help.  I  can  conceive 
dead  mothers  haunting  those  places  to  watch 
how  their  child  is  to  fare  in  them.  Very 
frightened  ghosts,  Robert.  I  have  thought 
so  long  of  how  I  was  to  be  within  hail  of  my 
girl  at  this  time,  holding  her  hand — my  Amy, 
my  child.' 

colonel.  'That  is  just  how  it  is  all  to  turn 
out,  my  Alice.' 

alice,  shivering,  'Yes,  isn't  it,  isn't  it?' 

colonel.     'YTou  dear  excitable,  of  course  it  is.' 

alice,  like  one  defying  him,  'But  even  though 
it  were  not,  though  I  had  come  back  too  late, 
though  my  daughter  had  become  a  woman 
without  a  mother's  guidance,  though  she 
were  a  bad  woman ' 

colonel.     'Alice.' 

alice.  'Though  some  cur  of  a  man — Robert, 
it  wouldn't  affect  my  love  for  her,  I  should 
love  her  more  than  ever.     If  all  others  turned 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  91 

from  her,  if  you  turned  from  her,  Robert — 
how  I  should  love  her  then.' 

colonel.     'Alice,  don't  talk  of  such  things.' 
But  she  continues  to  talk  of  them,  for  she 
sees  that  the  door  is  ajar,  and  what  she  says 
now  is  really  to  comfort  Amy.     Every  word 
of  it  is  a  kiss  for  Amy. 

alice,  smiling  through  her  fears,  'I  was  only 
telling  you  that  nothing  could  make  any 
difference  in  my  love  for  Amy.  That  was  all; 
and,  of  course,  if  she  has  ever  been  a  little 
ioolish,  light-headed — at  that  age  one  often 
is — why,  a  mother  would  soon  put  all  that 
right;  she  would  just  take  her  girl  in  her  arms 
and  they  would  talk  it  over,  and  the  poor 
child's  troubles  would  vanish.'  Still  for 
Amy's  comfort,  'And  do  you  think  I  should 
repeat  any  of  Amy's  confidences  to  you, 
Robert  ? '  Gaily,  '  Not  a  word,  sir !  She 
might  be  sure  of  that.' 

colonel.  'A  pretty  way  to  treat  a  father. 
But  you  will  never  persuade  me  that  there  is 
any  serious  flaw  in  Amy.' 

alice.     'I  '11  never  try,  dear.' 


92  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

colonel.     'As  for  this  little  tantrum  of  locking 

herself  into  her  room,  however,  we  must  have 

it  out  with  her.' 
alice.     'The  first  thing  to-morrow.' 
colonel.     'Not  a  bit  of  it.     The  first  thing  the 

moment  we  get  home.' 
alice,   now  up  against  a  new  danger,   'You 

forget,  dear,  that  she  has  gone  to  bed.' 
colonel.     'We  '11  soon  rout  her  out  of  bed.' 
alice.     'Robert!     You    forget    that    she    has 

locked  the  door.' 
colonel.     'Sulky    little    darling.     I    daresay 

she  is  crying  her  eyes  out  for  you  already. 

But  if  she  doesn't  open  that  door  pretty 

smartly  I  '11  force  it.' 
alice.     'You  wouldn't  do  that?' 
colonel.     '  Wouldn't  I  ?    Oh  yes,  I  would.' 
Thus  Alice  has  another  problem  to  meet 

when  Steve  returns  from  his  successful  quest 

for  a  cab. 

'Thank  you,  Steve,  you  will  excuse  us  run- 
ning off,  I  know.     Alice  is  all  nerves  to-night. 

Come  along,  dear.' 
alice,  signing  to  the  puzzled  Steve  that  he 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  93 

must    somehow    get    the    lady    out    of    the 

house  at  once,   'There  is  no  such  dreadful 

hurry,  is  there  ? '     She  is  suddenly  interested 

in  some  photographs  on  the  wall.     'Are  you 

in  this  group,  Steve  ?  ' 
steve.     'Yes,  it  is  an  old  school  eleven.' 
alice.     'Let  us  see  if  we  can  pick  Steve  out, 

Robert.' 
colonel.     'Here    he    is,    the    one    with    the 

ball.' 
alice.     'Oh   no,  that  can't  be  Steve,  surely. 

Isn't  this  one  more  like  him?     Come  over 

here  under  the  light.' 

Steve  has  his  moment  at  the  door,  but  it  is 

evident  from  his  face  that  the  hidden  one 

scorns  his  blandishments.     So  he  signs   to 

Alice. 
colonel.     '  This  is  you,  isn't  it,  Steve  ?  * 
steve.     'Yes,  the  one  with  the  ball.' 
colonel.     'I  found  you  at  once.     Now,  Alice, 

your  cloak.' 
alice.     'I  feel  so  comfy  where  I  am.     One  does 

hate  to  leave  a  fire,  doesn't  one.'     She  hums 

gaily  a  snatch  of  a  song. 


94  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

colonel.  'The  woman  doesn't  know  her  own 
mind.' 

alice.  'You  remember  we  danced  to  that  once 
on  my  birthday  at  Simla.' 

She  shows  him  how  they  danced  at  Simla. 

colonel,  to  Steve,  who  is  indeed  the  more  be- 
wildered of  the  two,  'And  a  few  minutes  ago 
I  assure  you  she  was  weeping  on  my  shoulder  !' 

alice.  'You  were  so  nice  to  me  that  evening, 
Robert — I  gave  you  a  dance.'  She  whirls 
him  gaily  round. 

colonel.  'Y^ou  flibberty  jibbet,  you  make  me 
dizzy.' 

alice.     '  Shall  we  sit  out  the  rest  of  the  dance  ? ' 

colonel.  'Not  I.  Come  along,  you  unrea- 
sonable thing.' 

alice.  'Unreasonable.  Robert,  I  have  a 
reason.  I  want  to  see  whether  Amy  will 
come.' 

colonel.     '  Come  ? ' 

steve.     'Come  here?' 

alice.  'I  didn't  tell  you  before,  Robert, 
because  I  had  so  little  hope;  but  I  called 
to  her  through  the  door  that  I  was  coming 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  95 

here  to  meet  you,  and  I  said,  "I  don't  believe 
you  have  a  headache,  Amy ;  I  believe  you  have 
locked  yourself  in  there  because  you  hate  the 
poor  mother  who  loves  you,"  and  I  begged  her 
to  come  with  me.  I  said,  "If  you  won't 
come  now,  come  after  me  and  make  me 
happy.'" 

colonel.  'But  what  an  odd  message,  Alice; 
so  unlike  you.' 

alice.  'Was  it?  I  don't  know.  I  always 
find  it  so  hard,  Robert,  to  be  like  myself.' 

colonel.     'But,  my  dear,  a  young  girl.' 

alice.  'She  could  have  taken  a  cab;  I  gave 
her*  the  address.  Don't  be  so  hard,  Robert, 
I  am  teaching  you  to  dance.'  She  is  off  with 
him  again. 

colonel.     'Steve,  the  madcap.' 

He  falls  into  a  chair,  but  sees  the  room  still 
going  round.  It  is  Alice's  chance;  she 
pounces  upon  Amy's  hand,  whirls  her  out  of 
the  hiding  place,  and  seems  to  greet  her  at  the 
other  door. 

alice.     'Amy!' 

colonel,    jumping    up,    'Not    really?     Hallo! 


96  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

I  never  for  a  moment It  was  true,  then. 

Amy,  you  are  a  good  little  girl  to  come.' 
amy,  to  whom  this  is  a  not  unexpected  step  in 

the  game,  'Dear  father.' 
steve,  to  whom  it  is  a  very  unexpected  step 

indeed,     'Amy!      Is    this — your    daughter, 

Alice?'    • 
alice,  wondering  at  the  perfidy  of  the  creature, 

'I  forgot  that  you  don't  know  her,  Steve.' 
steve.     'But  if — if  this  is  your  daughter — you 

are  the  mother.' 
alice.     'The  mother?' 
colonel,  jovially,  'Well  thought  out,  Steve. 

He  is  a  master  mind,  Alice.' 

steve.     'But — but ' 

Mercifully  Amy  has  not  lost  her  head.     She 

is  here  to  save  them  all. 
amy.     'Introduce  me,  father.' 
colonel.     'He  is  astounded  at  our  having  such 

a  big  girl.' 
steve,  thankfully,  'Yes,  that 's  it.' 
colonel.     'Amy,  my  old  friend,  Steve  Rollo — ■ 

Steve,  this  is  our  rosebud.' 
steve,  blinking,  '  How  do  you  do  ? ' 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  97 

amy,  sternly,  'How  do  you  do?' 

colonel.     'But,  bless  me,  Amy,   you  are  a 

swell.' 
amy,  flushing,  'It  is  only  evening  dress.' 
colonel.     'I  bet  she  didn't  dress  for  us,  Alice; 

it  was  all  done  for  Steve.' 
alice.     'Yes,  for  Steve.' 
colonel.     'But   don't   hang   in   me,   chicken, 

hang  in  your  mother.     Steve,  why  are  you 

staring  at  Alice?' 

We  know  why  he  is  staring  at  Alice,  but  of 

course  he  is  too  gallant  a  gentleman  to  tell. 

Besides  his  astonishment  has  dazed  him. 
steve.     'Was  I?' 
alice,  with  her  arms  extended,  'Amy,  don't 

be  afraid  of  me.' 
amy,  going  into  them  contemptuously,   'I  'm 

not.' 
colonel,  badgered,  'Then  kiss  and  make  it  up.' 

Amy  bestows  a  cold  kiss  upon  her  mother. 

Alice  weeps.     'This  is  too  much.     Just  wait 

till  I  get  you  home.     Are  you  both  ready?' 
It  is  then  that  Amy  makes  her  first  mistake. 

The  glove  that  the  Colonel  has  tossed  taSteve 


98  ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

is  lying  on  a  chair,  and  she  innocently  begins 
to  put  it  on.  Her  father  stares  at  her;  his 
wife  does  not  know  why. 

alice.  'We  are  ready,  Robert.  Why  don't 
you  come?     Robert,  what  is  it?' 

colonel,  darkening,  'Steve  knows  what  it  is; 
Amy  doesn't  as  yet.  The  simple  soul  has 
given  herself  away  so  innocently  that  it  is 
almost  a  shame  to  take  notice  of  it.  But  I 
must,  Steve.  Come,  man,  it  can't  be  difficult 
to  explain.' 

In  this  Steve  evidently  differs  from  him. 

alice.     'Robert,  you  frighten  me.' 

colonel.  'Still  tongue-tied,  Steve.  Before 
you  came  here,  Alice,  I  found  a  lady's  glove 
on  the  floor.' 

alice,  quickly,  'That  isn't  our  affair,  Robert.' 

colonel.  'Yes;  I  '11  tell  you  why.  Amy  has 
just  put  on  that  glove.' 

alice.     'It  isn't  hers,  dear.' 

colonel.  'Do  you  deny  that  it  is  yours, 
Amy?'  Amy  has  no  answer  to  this.  'Is  it 
unreasonable,  Steve,  to  ask  you  when  my 
daughter,  with  whom  you  profess  to  be  un- 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  99 

acquainted,    gave    you    that    token    of    her 

esteem  ? ' 
steve,  helpless,  'Alice.' 
colonel.     '  What  has  Alice  to  do  with  it  ? ' 
amy,    to    the    rescue,    'Nothing,    nothing,    I 

swear.' 
colonel.     '  Has  there  been  something  going  on 

that  I   don't  understand?     Are  you   in   it, 

Alice,  as  well  as  they  ?     Why  has  Steve  been 

staring  at  you  so?' 
amy,  knowing  so  well  that  she  alone  can  put  this 

matter  right,  'Mother,  don't  answer.' 
steve.     '  If  I  could  see  Alice  alone  for  a  moment, 

Colonel ' 

alice.     'Yes.' 

colonel.     'No.     Good  heavens,  what  are  you 

all    concealing?     Is    Amy — my    Amy — your 

elderly  lady,  Steve  ?     Was  that  some  tasteful 

little  joke  you  were  playing  on  your  old  friend, 

her  father?' 

steve.     'Colonel,  I ' 

amy,  preparing  for  the  great  sacrifice,  'I  forbid 

him  to  speak.' 
colonel.     'You  forbid  him.' 


100  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

alice.      'Robert,     Robert,    let    me    explain. 

Steve ' 

amy.     'Mother,  you  must  not,  you  dare  not.' 

Grandly,  'Let  all  fall  on  me.     It  is  not  true, 

father,  that  Mr.  Rollo  and  I  were  strangers 

when  you  introduced  us.' 
alice,  wailing,  'Amy,  Amy.' 
amy,  with  a  touch  of  the  sublime,  'It  is  my 

glove, -but  it  had  a  right  to  be  here.     He  is  my 

affianced  husband.' 

Perhaps,  but  it  is  an  open  question,  Steve 

is  the  one  who  is  most  surprised  to  hear  this. 

He  seems  to  want  to  say  something  on  the 

subject,  but  a  look  of  entreaty  from  Alice 

silences  him. 
colonel.     'Alice,  did  you  hear  her?' 
alice.     'Surely  you  don't  mean,  Robert,  that 

you  are  not  glad?' 
colonel,  incredu  ous, '  Is  that  how  you  take  it  ? ' 
alice,  heart-broken,   'How  I  take  it!     I  am 

overjoyed.     Don't  you  see  how  splendid  it 

is;  our  old  friend  Steve.' 
colonel,  glaring  at  him,  'Our  old  friend,  Steve.' 
As  for  Amy,  that  pale-faced  lily,  for  the 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  101 

moment  she  stands  disregarded.  Never 
mind;  Ginevra  will  yet  do  her  justice. 

alice.  'Oh,  happy  day  !'  Brazenly  she  takes 
Steve's  two  hands,  'Robert,  he  is  to  be  our 
son.' 

colonel.  'You  are  very  clever,  Alice,  but  do 
you  really  think  I  believe  that  this  is  no  shock 
to  you  ?  Oh,  woman,  why  has  this  deception 
not  struck  you  to  the  ground  ? ' 

alice.  'Deception  ?  Amy,  Steve,  I  do  believe 
he  thinks  that  this  is  as  much  a  surprise  to  me 
as  it  is  to  him  !  Why,  Robert,  I  have  known 
about  it  ever  since  I  saw  Amy  alone  this 
afternoon.  She  told  me  at  once.  Then  in 
came  Steve,  and  he ' 

colonel.     '  Is  it  as  bad  as  that ! ' 

alice.     'As  what,  dear?' 

colonel.     'That  my  wife  must  lie  to  me.' 

alice.     'Oh,  Robert.' 

colonel.  'I  am  groping  only,  but  I  can  see 
now  that  you  felt  there  was  something  wrong 
from  the  first.     How  did  you  find  out  ? ' 

alice,  imploringly,  'Robert,  they  are  engaged 
to  be  married;  it  was  foolish  of  them  not 


102  ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

to  tell  you;  but,  oh,  ruy  dear,  leave  it  at 
that.' 

colonel.  'Why  did  you  ask  Amy  to  follow 
us  here?' 

alice.  'So  that  we  could  all  be  together  when 
we  broke  it  to  you,  dear.' 

colonel.  'Another  lie!  My  shoulders  are 
broad;  why  shouldn't  I  have  it  to  bear  as 
well  as  you?' 

alice.  'There  is  nothing  to  bear  but  just  a 
little  folly.' 

colonel.  'Folly!  And  neither  of  them  able 
to  say  a  word?' 

Indeed  they  are  very  cold  lovers;  Amy's 
lip  is  curled  at  Steve.  To  make  matters 
worse,  the  cupboard  door,  which  has  so  far 
had  the  decency  to  remain  quiet,  now  pre- 
sumes to  have  its  say.  It  opens  of  itself  a  few 
inches,  creaking  guiltily.  Three  people  are 
so  startled  that  a  new  suspicion  is  roused  in 
the  fourth. 

alice,  who  can  read  his  face  so  well,  'She 
wasn't  there,  Robert,  she  wasn't.' 

colonel.     'My  God!     I  understand  now;  she 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  103 

didn't  follow  us;  she  hid  there  when  I  came.' 

alice.     'No,  Robert,  no.' 

He  goes  into  the  cupboard  and  returns  with 
something  in  his  hand,  which  he  gives  to  Amy. 

colonel.     'Your  other  glove,  Amy.' 

alice.  'I  can't  keep  it  from  you  any  longer, 
Robert;  I  have  done  my  best.'  She  goes  to 
Amy  to  protect  her.  'But  Amy  is  still  my 
child.' 

'What  a  deceiver'  Amy  is  thinking. 

colonel.  '  Well,  sir,  still  waiting  for  that  inter- 
view with  my  wife  before  you  can  say  any- 
thing?' 

steve,  a  desperate  fellow,  'Yes.' 

alice.  'You  will  have  every  opportunity  of 
explaining,  Steve,  many  opportunities;  but 
in  the  meantime — just  now,  please  go,  leave 
us  alone.'  Stamping  her  foot:  'Go,  please.' 
Steve  has  had  such  an  evening  of  it  that  he 
clings  dizzily  to  the  one  amazing  explanation, 
that  Alice  loves  him  not  wisely  but  too  well. 
Never  will  he  betray  her,  never. 

steve,  with  a  meaning  that  is  lost  on  her  but 
is  very  evident  to  the  other  lady  present, 


104  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 


'Anything  you  ask  me  to  do,  Alice,  anything. 

I  shall  go  upstairs  only,  so  that  if  you  want 

me ' 

alice.     'Oh,  go.'     He  goes,  wondering  whether 

he  is  a  villain  or  a  hero,  which  is  perhaps 

a  pleasurable  state  of  mind. 
colonel.     'You  are  wondrous  lenient  to  him; 

I  shall  have  more  to  say.     As  for  this  girl — 

look  at  her  standing  there,  she  seems  rather 

proud  of  herself.* 
alice.     'It  isn't  really  hardness,  Robert.     It 

is   because   she   thinks   that   you   are   hard. 

Robert,  dear,  I  want  you  to  go  away  too,  and 

leave  Amy  to  me.     Go  home,  Robert;  we 

shall  follow  soon/ 
colonel,  after  a  long  pause,  'If  you  wish  it.' 
alice.     'Leave  her  to  her  mother.' 

When  he  has  gone  Amy  leans  across  the 

top  of  a  chair,  sobbing  her  little  heart  away. 

Alice  tries  to  take  her — the  whole  of  her — in 

her  arms,  but  is  rebuffed  with  a  shudder. 
amy.     'I  wonder  you  can  touch  me.' 
alice.     'The  more  you  ask  of  your  mother  the 

more  she  has  to  give.     It  is  my  love  you  need, 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  105 

Amy;  and  you  can  draw  upon  it,  and  draw 
upon  it.' 

amy.     'Pray  excuse  me.' 

alice.  'How  can  you  be  so  hard !  My  child, 
I  am  not  saying  one  harsh  word  to  you.  I 
am  asking  you  only  to  hide  your  head  upon 
your  mother's  breast.' 

amy.     'I  decline.' 

alice.  'Take  care,  Amy,  or  I  shall  begin  to 
believe  that  your  father  was  right.  What 
do  you  think  would  happen  if  I  were  to  leave 
you  to  him  ! ' 

amy.     'Poor  father.' 

alice.     'Poor  indeed  with  such  a  daughter.' 

amy.  'He  has  gone,  mother;  so  do  you  really 
think  you  need  keep  up  this  pretence  before 
me?' 

alice.     'Amy,  what  you  need  is  a  whipping.' 

amy.     'You  ought  to  know  what  I  need.' 

The   agonised    mother  again  tries  to  en- 
velop her  unnatural  child. 

alice.     'Amy,  Amy,  it  was  all  Steve's  fault.' 

amy,  struggling  as  with  a  boa  constrictor, 
'You  needn't  expect  me  to  believe  that.' 


106  ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

alice.  'No  doubt  you  thought  at  the  begin- 
ning that  he  was  a  gallant  gentleman.' 

amy.  'Not  at  all;  I  knew  he  was  depraved 
from  the  moment  I  set  eyes  on  him.' 

alice.     'My  Amy!     Then  how — how ' 

amy.     'Ginevra  knew  too.' 

alice.     '  She  knew  ! ' 

amy.  'We  planned  it  together — to  treat  him 
in  the  same  way  as  Sir  Harry  Paskill  and 
Ralph  Devereux.' 

alice.  'Amy,  you  are  not  in  your  senses. 
You  don't  mean  that  there  were  others  ? ' 

amy.  'There  was  Major — Major — I  forget  his 
name,  but  he  was  another.' 

alice,  shaking  her,  'Wretched  girl.' 

amy.     'Leave  go.' 

alice.     '  How  did  you  get  to  know  them  ? ' 

amy.  'To  know  them?  They  are  characters 
in  plays.' 

alice,  bereft,  'Characters  in  plays  ?     Plays  ! ' 

amy.     'We  went  to  five  last  week.' 

Wild  hopes  spring  up  in  Alice's  breast. 

alice.  'Amy,  tell  me  quickly,  when  did  you 
see  Steve  for  the  first  time?' 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  107 

amy.  '  When  you  were  saying  good-bye  to  him 
this  afternoon.' 

alice.     '  Can  it  be  true  ! ' 

amy.  'Perhaps  we  shouldn't  have  listened; 
but  they  always  listen  when  there  is  a  screen.' 

alice.     'Listened?     What  did  you  hear?' 

amy.  'Everything,  mother  !  We  saw  him  kiss 
you  and  heard  you  make  an  assignation  to 
meet  him  here.' 

alice.  'I  shall  whip  you  directly,  but  go  on, 
darling.' 

amy,  childishly,  'You  shan't  whip  me.'  Then 
once  more  heroic,  'As  in  a  flash  Ginevra  and 
I  saw  that  there  was  only  one  way  to  save 
you.  I  must  go  to  his  chambers,  and  force 
him  to  return  the  letters.' 

alice,  inspired,  'My  letters?' 

amy.  'Of  course.  He  behaved  at  first  as  they 
all  do — pretended  that  he  did  not  know  what 
I  was  talking  about.  At  that  moment,  a 
visitor;  I  knew  at  once  that  it  must  be  the 
husband;  it  always  is,  it  was;  I  hid.  Again 
a  visitor.  I  knew  it  must  be  you,  it  was;  oh, 
the  agony  to  me  in  there.     I  was  wondering 


108  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

when  he  would  begin  to  suspect,  for  I  knew 
the  time  would  come,  and  I  stood  ready  to 
emerge  and  sacrifice  myself  to  save  you.' 

alice.     'As  you  have  done,  Amy?' 

amy.     'As  I  have  done.' 

Once  more  the  arms  go  round  her. 
'I  want  none  of  that.' 

alice.  'Forgive  me.'  A  thought  comes  to 
Alice  that  enthralls  her.  'Steve!  Does  he 
know  what  you  think — about  me  ? ' 

amy.     'I  had  to  be  open  with  him.' 

alice.  'And  Steve  believes  it?  He  thinks 
that  I — I — Alice  Grey — oh,  ecstasy!' 

amy.     'You  need  not  pretend.' 

alice.     'What  is  to  be  done?' 

amy.  'Though  I  abhor  him  I  must  marry  him 
for  aye.  Ginevra  is  to  be  my  only  brides- 
maid.    We  are  both  to  wear  black.' 

alice,  sharply,  'You  are  sure  you  don't  rather 
like  him,  Amy?' 

amy.     'Mother!' 

alice.  'Amy,  weren't  you  terrified  to  come 
alone  to  the  rooms  of  a  man  you  didn't  even 
know?     Some  men ' 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  109 

amy.     'I   was   not   afraid.     I   am   a   soldier's 
daughter;  and  Ginevra  gave  me  this.' 

She  produces  a  tiny  dagger.  This  is  alto- 
gether too  much  for  Alice. 

alice.     'My  darling!' 

She  does  have  the  babe  in  her  arms  at  last, 
and  now  Amy  clings  to  her.  This  is  very 
sweet  to  Alice;  but  she  knows  that  if  she 
tells  Amy  the  truth  at  once  its  first  effect  will 
be  to  make  the  dear  one  feel  ridiculous.  How 
can  Alice  hurt  her  Amy  so,  Amy  who  has  such 
pride  in  having  saved  her?  'You  do  love 
me  a  little,  Amy,  don't  you  ? ' 

amy.     'Yes,  yes.' 

alice.     'You  don't  think  I  have  been  really 
bad,  dear?' 

amy.     'Oh,  no,  only  foolish.' 

alice.     'Thank  you,  Amy.' 

amy,  nestling  still  closer,  'What  are  we  to  do 
now,  dear  dear  mother?' 

Alice  has  a  happy  idea;  but  that,  as  the 
novelists  say,  deserves  a  chapter  to  itself. 


Ill 


We  are  back  in  the  room  of  the  diary.  The 
diary  itself  is  not  visible;  it  is  tucked  away  in 
the  drawer,  taking  a  nap  while  it  may,  for  it  has 
much  to  chronicle  before  cockcrow.  Cosmo 
also  is  asleep,  on  an  ingenious  arrangement  of 
chairs.  Ginevra  is  sitting  bolt  upright,  a  book 
on  her  knee,  but  she  is  not  reading  it.  She  is 
seeing  visions  in  which  Amy  plays  a  desperate 
part.  The  hour  is  late;  every  one  ought  to  be 
in  bed. 

Cosmo  is  perhaps  dreaming  that  he  is  back 
at  Osborne,  for  he  calls  out,  as  if  in  answer  to  a 
summons,  that  he  is  up  and  nearly  dressed.  He 
then  raises  his  head  and  surveys  Ginevra. 

cosmo.     'Hullo,  you  've  been  asleep.' 

ginevra.     'How  like  a  man.' 

cosmo.     'I  say,  I  thought  you  were  the  one 

who  had  stretched  herself  out,  and  that  I 
no 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  111 

was  sitting  here  very  quiet,  so  as  not  to  waken 

you.' 
ginevra.     'Let  us  leave  it  at  that.' 
cosmo.     '  Huffy,  aren't  you !    Have  they  not 

come  back  yet  ? ' 
ginevra.    'Not  they.    And  half-past  eleven  has 

struck.     I  oughtn't  to  stay  any  longer;  as  it 

is,  I  don't  know  what  my  landlady  will  say.' 
She  means  that  she  does  know. 
cosmo.     'I'll  see  you  to  your  place  whenever 

you  like.     My  uniform  will  make  it  all  right 

for  you.' 
ginevra.     'You  child.     But  I  simply  can't  go 

till  I  know  what  has  happened.     Where,  oh 

where,  can  they  be?' 
cosmo.     '  That 's  all  right.     Father  told  you  he 

had  a  message  from  mother  saying  that  they 

had  gone  to  the  theatre.' 
ginevra.     'But  why?' 

cosmo.     'Yes,  it  seemed  to  bother  him,  too.' 
ginevra.    '  The  theatre.    That  is  what  she  said.* 
Here    Cosmo    takes    up    a    commanding 

position  on  the  hearthrug;  it  could  not  be 

bettered  unless  with  a  cigar  in  the  mouth. 


112  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

cosmo.  'Look  here,  Miss  Dunbar,  it  may  be 
that  I  have  a  little  crow  to  pick  with  mother 
when  she  comes  back,  but  I  cannot  allow  any- 
one else  to  say  a  word  against  her.  Com- 
prenez  ? ' 

Ginevra's  reply  is  lost  to  the  world  because 
at  this  moment  Amy's  sparkling  eyes  show 
round  the  door.  How  softly  she  must  have 
crossed  the  little  hall ! 

ginevra.     'Amy,  at  last!' 

amy.  'Sh!'  She  speaks  to  some  one  unseen, 
*  There  are  only  Ginevra  and  Cosmo  here.' 
Thus  encouraged  Alice  enters.  Despite  her 
demeanour  they  would  see,  if  they  knew  her 
better,  that  she  has  been  having  a  good  time, 
and  is  in  hopes  that  it  is  not  ended  yet.  She 
comes  in,  as  it  were,  under  Amy's  guidance. 
Ginevra  is  introduced,  and  Alice  then  looks 
to  Amy  for  instructions  what  to  do  next. 

amy,  encouragingly,  'Sit  down,  mother.' 

.alice.  'Where  shall  I  sit,  dear?'  Amy  gives 
her  the  nicest  chair  in  the  room.  'Thank 
you,  Amy.'  She  is  emboldened  to  address 
her  son.     'Where  is  your  father,  Cosmo?' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  113 


Cosmo  remembers  his  slap,  and  that  he  has 
sworn  to  converse  with  her  no  more.  He  in- 
dicates, however,  that  his  father  is  in  the 
room  overhead.  Alice  meekly  accepts  the  re- 
buff.    '  Shall  I  go  to  him,  Amy  ? ' 

amy,  considerately,  'If  you  think  you  feel 
strong  enough,  mother.' 

alice.     'You  have  given  me  strength.' 

amy.  'I  am  so  glad.'  She  strokes  her  mother 
soothingly.     'What  will  you  tell  him?' 

alice.     'All,  Amy — all,  all.' 

amy.     'Brave  mother.' 

alice.  'Who  could  not  be  brave  with  such  a 
daughter.'  On  reflection,  'And  with  such  a 
son.' 

Helped  by  encouraging  words  from  Amy 
she  departs  on  her  perilous  enterprise.  The 
two  conspirators  would  now  give  a  handsome 
competence  to  Cosmo  to  get  him  out  of  the 
room.     He  knows  it,  and  sits  down. 

cosmo.  'I  say,  what  is  she  going  to  tell 
father?' 

amy,  with  a  despairing  glance  at  Ginevra, 
'Oh,  nothing.' 


114  ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

ginevra,  with  a  clever  glance  at  Amy,  '  Cosmo, 
you  promised  to  see  me  home.' 

cosmo,  the  polite,  'Right  O.' 

ginevra.  'But  you  haven't  got  your  boots 
on.' 

cosmo.  'I  won't  be  a  minute.'  He  pauses  at 
the  door.  'I  say  I  believe  you  're  trying  to 
get  rid  of  me.  Look  here,  I  won't  budge  till 
you  tell  me  what  mother  is  speaking  about  to 
father.' 

amy.  'It  is  about  the  drawing-room  cur- 
tains.' 

cosmo.  '  Good  lord  ! '  As  soon  as  he  has  gone 
they  rush  at  each  other;  they  don't  embrace; 
they  stop  when  their  noses  are  an  inch  apart, 
and  then  talk.  This  is  the  stage  way  for 
lovers.  It  is  difficult  to  accomplish  without 
rubbing  noses,  but  they  have  both  been 
practising. 

ginevra.  'Quick,  Amy,  did  you  get  the 
letters?' 

amy.     'There  are  no  letters.' 

Ginevra    is    so    taken    aback    that    her 
nose   bobs.     Otherwise   the   two    are   abso- 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  115 

lutely  motionless.  She  cleverly  recovers 
herself. 

ginevra.  'No  letters;  how  unlike  life.  You 
are  quite  sure?' 

amy.     'I  have  rny  mother's  word  for  it.' 

ginevra.     'Is  that  enough?' 

amy.     'And  you  now  have  mine.' 

ginevra.     'Then  it  hadn't  gone  far?' 

amy.  'No,  merely  a  painful  indiscretion.  But 
if  father  had  known  it — you  know  what 
husbands  are.5 

ginevra.  'Yes,  indeed.  Did  he  follow  her?' 
Amy  nods.  'Did  you  hide?'  Amy  nods 
again. 

amy.  'Worse  than  that,  Ginevra.  To  deceive 
him  I  had  to  pretend  that  I  was  the  woman. 

And    now — Ginevra,    can    you    guess? ' 

Here  they  have  to  leave  off  doing  noses.  On 
the  stage  it  can  be  done  for  ever  so  much 
longer,  but  only  by  those  who  are  paid  ac- 
cordingly. 

ginevra.     'You  don't  mean ?' 

amy.     'I  think  I  do,  but  what  do  you  mean?' 

ginevra.     'I  mean — the  great  thing.'     r 


116  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

amy..  'Then  it  is,  yes.  Ginevra,  I  am  affi- 
anced to  the  man,  Steve ! ' 

Ginevra  could  here  quickly  drink  a  glass  of 
water  if  there  was  one  in  the  room. 

ginevra,  wandering  round  her  old  friend,  'You 
seem  the  same,  Amy,  yet  somehow  different.' 

amy,  rather  complacently,  'That  is  just  how  I 
feel.  But  I  must  not  think  of  myself.  They 
are  overhead,  Ginevra.  There  is  an  awful 
scene  taking  place — up  there.  She  is  telling 
father  all.' 

ginevra.     'Confessing  ? ' 

amy.  'Everything — in  a  noble  attempt  to  save 
me  from  a  widowed  marriage.' 

ginevra.  'But  I  thought  she  was  such  a  hard 
woman.' 

amy.  'Not  really.  To  the  world  perhaps; 
but  I  have  softened  her.  All  she  needed, 
Ginevra,  to  bring  out  her  finer  qualities  was 
a  strong  nature  to  lean  upon;  and  she  says 
that  she  has  found  it  in  me.  At  the  theatre 
and  all  the  way  home ' 

ginevra.  'Then  you  did  go  to  the  theatre. 
Why?' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  117 

amy,  feeling  that  Ginevra  is  very  young,  'Need 
you  ask?  Oh,  Ginevra,  to  see  if  we  could 
find  a  happy  ending.     It  was  mother's  idea.' 

ginevra.     'Which  theatre?' 

amy.  'I  don't  know,  but  the  erring  wife  con- 
fessed all — in  one  of  those  mousselines  de  soie 
that  are  so  fashionable  this  year;  and  mother 
and  I  sat — clasping  each  other's  hands,  pray- 
ing it  might  end  happily,  though  we  didn't 
see  how  it  could.' 

ginevra.  'How  awful  for  you.  What  did  the 
husband  do?' 

amy.  'He  was  very  calm  and  white.  He  went 
out  of  the  room  for  a  moment,  and  came  back 
so  white.  Then  he  sat  down  by  the  fire,  and 
nodded  his  head  three  times.' 

ginevra.  'I  think  I  know  now  which  theatre 
it  was.' 

amy.  'He  asked  her  coldly — but  always  the 
perfect  gentleman ' 

ginevra.     'Oh,  thai  theatre.' 

amy.  'He  asked  her  whether  he  was  to  go  or 
she.' 

ginevra.     'They  must  part?' 


118  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

amy.  'Yes.  She  went  on  her  knees  to  him, 
and  said  "Are  we  never  to  meet  again?"  and 
he  replied  huskily  "  Never."  Then  she  turned 
and  went  slowly  towards  the  door.' 

ginevra,  clutching  her,  'Amy,  was  that  the 
end?' 

amy.  'The  audience  sat  still  as  death,  listening 
for  the  awful  click  that  brings  the  curtain 
down.' 

ginevra,  shivering,  'I  seem  to  hear  it.' 

amy.     'At  that  moment ' 

ginevra.     'Yes,  yes?' 

amy.  'The  door  opened,  and,  Ginevra,  their 
little  child — came  in — in  her  night-gown.' 

ginevra.     'Quick.' 

amy.  'She  came  toddling  down  the  stairs — she 
was  barefooted — she  took  in  the  whole 
situation  at  a  glance — and,  running  to  her 
father,  she  said,  "Daddy,  if  mother  goes 
away  what  is  to  become  of  me?"'  Amy 
gulps  and  continues:  'And  then  she  took  a 
hand  of  each  and  drew  them  together  till  they 
fell  on  each  other's  breasts,  and  then — Oh, 
Ginevra,  then — Click  ! — and  the  curtain  fell.' 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  119 

ginevra,  when  they  are  more  composed, 
'How  old  was  the  child?* 

amy.     'Five.     She  looked  more.' 

ginevra,  her  brows  knitted,  'Molly  is  under 
two,  isn't  she?' 

amy.     'She  is  not  quite  twenty  months.' 

ginevra.     'She  couldn't  possibly  do  it.' 

amy.  'No;  I  thought  of  that.  But  she 
couldn't,  you  know,  even  though  she  was  held 
up.  Mother  couldn't  help  thinking  the  scene 
was  a  good  omen,  though.'  They  both  look 
at  the  ceiling  again.     'How  still  they  are.' 

ginevra.  'Perhaps  she  hasn't  had  the  courage 
to  tell.' 

amy.     'If  so,  I  must  go  on  with  it.' 

ginevra,  feeling  rather  small  beside  Amy, 
'Marry  him?' 

amy.  '  Yes.  I  must  dree  my  weird.  Is  it  dree 
your  weird,  or  weird  your  dree  ? ' 

ginevra.  'I  think  they  both  do.'  She  does 
not  really  care;  nobler  thoughts  are  surging 
within  her.  'Amy,  why  can't  I  make  some 
sacrifice  as  well  as  you?' 

Amy  seems  about  to  make  a  somewhat 


120  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

grudging  reply,  but  the  unexpected  arrival 

of  the  man  who  has  so  strangely  won  her  seals 

her  lips. 
amy.     'You!'  with  a  depth  of  meaning,  'Oh, 

sir.' 
steve,  the  most  nervous  of  the  company,  'I 

felt  I  must  come.     Miss  Grey,  I  am  in  the 

greatest  distress,  as  the  unhappy  cause  of  all 

this  trouble.' 
amy,    coldly,    'You    should   have   thought   of 

that  before.' 
steve.     '  It  was  dense  of  me  not  to  understand 

sooner — very  dense.'     He  looks  at  her  with 

wistful    eyes.     'Must    I    marry    you,    Miss 

Grey?' 
amy,  curling  her  lip,  'Ah,  that  is  what  you  are 

sorry  for ! ' 
steve.     'Yes — horribly  sorry.'     Hastily,  'Not 

for  myself.     To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  'd  be 

— precious  glad  to  risk  it — I  think.' 
amy,     with     a     glance     at     Ginevra,     'You 

would  ? ' 
steve.     'But  very  sorry  for  you.     It  seems 

such  a  shame  to  you — so  young  and  attractive 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  121 

— and  the  little  you  know  of  me  so — unfor- 
tunate.' 

amy.     'You  mean  you  could  never  love  me?' 

steve.     'I  don't  mean  that  at  all.' 

amy.     '  Ginevra  ! ' 

Indeed  Ginevra  feels  that  she  has  been 
obliterated  quite  long  enough. 

ginevra,  with  a  touch  of  testiness  in  her  tone, 
'Amy — introduce  me.' 

amy.    'Mr.  Stephen  Rollo — Miss  Dunbar.    Miss 
Dunbar  knows  all.' 

Ginevra  makes  a  movement  that  the 
cynical  might  describe  as  brushing  Amy 
aside. 

ginevra.    ' May  I  ask,  Mr.  Rollo,  what  are  your 
views  about  woman?' 

steve.     'Really  I ' 

ginevra.     'Is  she,  in  your  opinion,  her  hus- 
band's equal,  or  is  she  his  chattel?' 

steve.     'Honestly,  I  am  so  beside  myself ' 

ginevra.     'Yfou  evade  the  question.' 

amy.     'He  means  chattel,  Ginevra.' 

ginevra.     'Mr.    Rollo,    I   am    the   friend    till 
death  of  Amy  Grey.     Let  that  poor  child  go, 


122  ALICE  SIT-BY-TIIE-EIRE 

sir,   and  I  am  prepared  to  take  her  place 
beside  you — Yes,  at  the  altar's  mouth.' 

amy.     'Ginevra.' 

ginevra,  making  that  movement  again, 
'Understand  I  can  neither  love  nor  honour 
you — at  least  at  first — but  I  will  obey  you.' 

amy.  '  Ginevra,  you  take  too  much  upon  your- 
self.' 

ginevra.     'I  will  make  a  sacrifice — I  will/ 

amy.     'You  shall  not.' 

ginevra.  'I  feel  that  I  understand  this  gen- 
tleman as  no  other  woman  can.     It  is  my 

mission,  Amy ' 

The  return  of  Alice  is  what  prevents  Steve's 
seizing  his  hat  and  flying.  It  might  not  have 
had  this  effect  had  he  seen  the  lady's  face  just 
before  she  opened  the  door. 

alice,  putting  her  hand  to  her  poor  heart, 
'You  have  come  here,  Steve?  Oh  no,  it  is 
not  possible.' 

steve,  looking  things  unutterable,  'How  could 
I  help  coming?' 

amy,  to  the  rescue,  'Mother,  have  you— did 
you?' 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  123 

alice,  meekly,  'I  have  told  him  all.' 

steve.     'The  Colonel?' 

Alice  bows  her  bruised  head. 

amy,  conducting  her  to  a  seat,  'Brave,  brave. 
What  has  he  decided  ? ' 

alice.  'He  hasn't  decided  yet.  He  is  think- 
ing out  what  it  will  be  best  to  do.' 

steve.     'He  knows?     Then   I   am  no  longer 

'     His  unfinished  sentence  seems  to  refer 

to  Amy. 

amy,  proudly,  '  Yes,  sir,  as  he  knows,  you  are, 
as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  now  free.' 

ginevra,  in  a  murmur,  'It's  almost  a  pity.' 
She  turns  to  her  Amy.  'At  least,  Amy,  this 
makes  you  and  me  friends  again.'  We  have 
never  quite  been  able  to  understand  what  this 
meant,  but  Amy  knows,  for  she  puts  Ginevra's 
hand  to  her  sweet  lips. 

alice,  who  somehow  could  do  without  Ginevra 
to-night,  'Cosmo  is  waiting  for  you,  Miss 
Dunbar,  to  see  you  home.' 

ginevra,  with  a  disquieting  vision  of  her  land- 
lady, 'I  must  go.'  She  gives  her  hand  in 
the  coldest  way  to  Mrs.  Grey.     Then,  with  a 


124  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 


curtsey  to  Steve  that  he  can  surely  never 
forget,  'Mr.  Rollo,  I  am  sure  there  is  much 
good  in  you.  Darling  Amy,  I  shall  be  round 
first  thing  in  the  morning.' 

steve.  'Now  that  she  has  gone,  can  we — have 
a  talk?' 

alice,  looking  down,  'Yes,  Steve.' 

amy,  gently,  'Mother,  what  was  that  you 
called  him  ? ' 

alice.  'Dear  Amy,  I  forgot.  Yes,  Mr. 
Rollo.' 

steve.     'Then,  Alice ' 

amy.  'This  lady's  name,  if  I  am  not  greatly 
mistaken,  is  Mrs.  Grey.   Is  it  not  so,  mother  ? ' 

alice.     'Yes,  Amy.' 

steve.  'As  you  will;  but  it  is  most  impor- 
tant that  I  say  certain  things  to  her  at 
once.' 

alice.  'Oh,  Mr.  Rollo.  What  do  you  think, 
dear  ? ' 

amy,  reflecting,  'If  it  be  clearly  understood 
that  this  is  good-bye,  I  consent.  Please 
be  as  brief  as  possible.' 

Somehow  they  think  that  she  is  moving  to 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  125 

the  door,  but  she  crosses  only  to  the  other  side 
of  the  room  and  sits  down  with  a  book.  One 
of  them  likes  tins  very  much. 

steve,  who  is  not  the  one,  'But  I  want  to  see 
her  alone.' 

amy,  the  dearest  of  little  gaolers,  'That,  I  am 
afraid,  I  cannot  permit.  It  is  not  that  I  have 
not  perfect  confidence  in  you,  mother,  but 
you  must  see  I  am  acting  wisely.' 

alice.     'Yes,  Amy.' 

steve,  to  his  Alice,  'What  has  come  over  you? 
You  don't  seem  to  be  the  same  woman.' 

amy.     'That  is  just  it;  she  is  not.' 

alice.  'I  see  now  only  through  Amy's 
eyes.' 

amy.  'They  will  not  fail  you,  mother.  Pro- 
ceed, sir.' 

Steve  has  to  make  the  best  of  it. 

steve.  '  You  told  him,  then,  about  your  feelings 
for  me?' 

alice,  studying  the  carpet,  'He  knows  now 
exactly  what  are  my  feelings  for  you.' 

steve,  huskily,  'How  did  he  take  it?' 

alice.     'Need  you  ask?' 


126  ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

steve.  'Poor  old  boy.  I  suppose  he  wishes 
me  to  stay  away  from  your  house  now.' 

alice.     'Is  it  unreasonable?' 

steve.     'No,  of  course  not,  but ' 

alice.     '  Will  it  be  terribly  hard  to  you,  St 

Mr.  Rollo?' 

steve.  'It  isn't  that.  You  see  I  'm  fond  of 
the  Colonel,  I  really  am,  and  it  hurts  me  to 

think  he  thinks  that  I It  wasn't  my 

fault,  was  it?' 

amy.     '  Ungenerous . ' 

alice.  'He  quite  understands  that  it  was  I 
who  lost  my  head.' 

Steve  is  much  moved  by  the  generosity  of 
this.     He  lowers  his  voice. 

steve.  'Of  course  I  blame  myself  now;  but 
I  assure  you  honestly  I  had  no  idea  of  it  until 
to-night.  I  had  thought  you  were  only  my 
friend.  It  dazed  me;  but  as  I  ransacked  my 
mind  many  little  things  came  back  to  me.  I 
remembered  what  I  hadn't  noticed  at  the 
time ' 

amy.     'Louder,  please.' 

steve.     'I  remembered ' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  127 

amy.     'Is  this  necessary?' 

alice.  'Please,  Amy,  let  me  know  what  he  re- 
membered/ 

steve.  'I  remembered  that  your  voice  was 
softer  to  me  than  when  you  were  addressing 
other  men.' 

alice.  'Let  me  look  long  at  you,  Mr.  Rollo.' 
She  looks  long  at  him. 

amy.     'Mother,  enough.' 

alice.     '  What  more  do  you  remember  ? ' 

steve.  'It  is  strange  to  me  now  that  I  didn't 
understand  your  true  meaning  to-day  when 
you  said  I  was  the  only  man  you  couldn't  flirt 
with;  you  meant  that  I  aroused  deeper 
feelings.' 

alice.     'How  you  know  me.' 

amy.     'Not  the  best  of  you,  mother.' 

alice.     'No,  not  the  best,  Amy.' 

steve.  'I  can  say  that  I  never  thought  of 
myself  as  possessing  dangerous  qualities.  I 
thought  I  was  utterly  unattractive  to  women.' 

alice.  'You  must  have  known  about  your 
eyes.' 

steve,  eagerly, '  My  eyes  ?  On  my  soul  I  didn't.' 


128  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

Amy  wonders  if  this  can  be  true.  Alice  rises. 

She  feels  that  she  cannot  control  herself  much 

longer. 
alice.     'Steve,  if  you  don't  go  away  at  once  I 

shall  scream.' 
steve,    really    unhappy,    'Is    it    as    bad    as 

that?' 
amy,  rising,  'You  heard  what  Mrs.  Grey  said. 

This  is  very  painful  to  her.     Will  you  please 

say  good-bye.' 

In  the  novel  circumstances  he  does  not 

quite  know  how  this  should  be  carried  out. 
alice,  also  shy,  'How  shall  we  do  it,  Amy? 

On  the  brow?' 
amy.     'No,  mother — with  the  hand.' 

They  do  it  with  the  hand,  and  it  is  thus  that 

the  Colonel  finds  them.     He  would  be  unable 

to  keep  his  countenance  were  it  not  for  a 

warning  look  from  Alice. 
colonel,  one  of  the  men  who  have  a  genius  for 

saying  the  right  thing,  'Ha.' 
steve.     'I  am  going,  Colonel.     I  am  very  sorry 

that  you At  the  same  time  I  wish  you 

to  understand  that  the  fault  is  entirely  mine.' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  129 

colonel,  guardedly,  'Ha.' 

amy,  putting  an  arm  round  her  mother,  who 
hugs  it,  'Father,  he  came  only  to  say  good- 
bye. He  is  not  a  bad  man,  and  mother  has 
behaved  magnificently.' 

colonel,  cleverly,  'Ha.' 

amy.  'You  must  not,  you  shall  not,  be  cruel 
to  her.' 

alice.     'Darling  Amy.' 

colonel,  truculently, '  Oh,  mustn't  I.  We  shall 
see  about  that.' 

steve.     'Come,  come,  Colonel.' 

colonel,  doing  better  than  might  have  been  ex- 
pected, 'Hold  your  tongue,  sir.' 

amy.  'I  know  mother  as  no  other  person  can 
know  her.  I  begin  to  think  that  you  have  no 
proper  appreciation  of  her,  father.' 

alice,  basely,  'Dear,  dear  Amy.' 

amy.  'I  daresay  she  has  often  suffered  in  the 
past ' 

alice.     'Oh,  Amy,  oh.' 

amy.  'By  your — your  callousness — your  want 
of  sympathy — your  neglect.' 

alice.     'My  beloved  child.' 


130  ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

colonel,    uneasily,    'Alice,    tell    her    it    isn't 

so.' 
alice.     'You  hear  what  he  says,  my  pet.' 
amy.     'But  you  don't  deny  it.' 
colonel.     'Deny  it,  woman.' 
alice.     'Robert,  Robert.' 
amy.     'And    please    not    to    call    my    mother 

"woman"  in  my  presence.' 
colonel.     'I — I — I '     He    looks    for    help 

from  Alice,  but  she  gives  him  only  a  twinkle 

of  triumph.     He  barks,  'Child,  go  to  your 

room.' 
amy,  her  worst  fears  returning,  'But  what  are 

you  going  to  do?' 
colonel.     'That  is  not  your  affair.' 
steve.     'I  must  say  I  don't  see  that.' 
amy,  gratefully,  'Thank  you,  Mr.  Rollo.' 
colonel.     'Go  to  your  room.' 

She  has  to  go,  but  not  till  she  has  given 

her  mother  a  kiss  that  is  a  challenge  to  the 

world.     Then  to  the  bewilderment  of  Steve 

two  human  frames  are  rocked  with  laughter. 
alice.     'Oh,  Robert,  look  at  him.     He  thinks 

I  worship  him.' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  131 

colonel.     'Steve,  you  colossal  puppy.' 

steve.     '  Eli — what — why  ? ' 

alice.  'Steve,  tell  Robert  about  my  voice 
being  softer  to  you  than  to  other  men;  tell 
him,  Steve,  about  your  eyes.' 

The  unhappy  youth  gropes  mentally  and 
physically. 

steve.  'Good  heavens,  was  there  nothing  in 
it?' 

colonel.  'My  boy,  I  '11  never  let  you  hear 
the  end  of  this.' 

steve.  'But  if  there 's  nothing  in  it,  how 
could  your  daughter  have  thought ' 

colonel.  'She  saw  you  kiss  Alice  here  this 
afternoon,  you  scoundrel,  and,  as  she  thought, 
make  an  assignation  with  you.  There,  it  all 
came  out  of  that.  She  is  a  sentimental  lady, 
is  our  Amy,  and  she  has  been  too  often  to  the 
theatre.' 

steve.     'Let  me  think.' 

colonel.  'Here  is  a  chair  for  the  very  pur- 
pose.    Now,  think  hard.' 

steve.  'But — but — then  why  did  you  pretend 
before  her,  Alice?' 


132  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

alice.  'Because  she  thinks  that  she  has  saved 
me,  and  it  makes  her  so  happy.  Amy  has  a 
passionate  desire  to  be  of  some  use  in  this 
world  she  knows  so  well,  and  she  already 
sees  her  sphere,  Steve,  it  is  to  look  after 
me.  I  am  not  to  be  her  chaperone,  it 
is  she  who  is  to  be  mine.  I  have  submitted, 
you  see.' 

colonel,  fidgeting,  'She  seems  to  have  quite 
given  me  up  for  you.' 

alice,  blandly,  'Oh  yes,  Robert,  quite.' 

steve,  gloomily,  'You  will  excuse  my  thinking 
only  of  myself.     What  an  ass  I  've  been.' 

alice.     'Is  it  a  blow,  Steve?' 

steve.  'It's  a  come  down.  Ass,  ass,  ass! 
But  I  say,  Alice,  I  'm  awfully  glad  it 's  I  who 
have  been  the  ass  and  not  you.  I  really  am, 
Colonel.  You  see  the  tragedy  of  my  life  is 
I  'm  such  an  extraordinarily  ordinary  sort  of 
fellow  that,  though  every  man  I  know  says 
some  lady  has  loved  him,  there  never  in  all 
my  unromantic  life  was  a  woman  who  cared 
a  Christmas  card  for  me.  It  often  makes 
me  lonely;  and  so  when  I  thought  such  a 


ALICE  SIT-BY-TIIE-FIRE  133 

glorious  woman  as  you,  Alice — I  lost  touch 
of  earth  altogether;  but  now  I  've  fallen  back 
on  it  with  a  whack.  But  I  'm  glad — yes, 
I  'm  glad.  You  two  kindest  people  Steve 
Rollo  has  ever  known. — Oh,  I  say  good-night. 
I  suppose  you  can't  overlook  it,  Alice.' 

alice.  'Oh,  yes,  you  goose,  I  can.  We  are 
both  fond  of  you— Mr.  Rollo.' 

colonel.  'Come  in,  my  boy,  and  make  love 
to  me  as  often  as  you  feel  lonely.' 

steve.  'I  may  still  come  to  see  you?  I  say, 
I  'm  awfully  taken  with  your  Amy.' 

colonel.     'None  of  that,  Steve.' 

alice.  '  We  can  drop  in  on  you  on  the 
sly,  Steve,  to  admire  your  orbs;  but  you 
mustn't  come  here — until  Amy  thinks  it  is 
safe  for  me.'  When  he  has  gone  she  adds, 
'Until  I  think  it  is  safe  for  Amy.' 

colonel.     'When  will  that  be?' 

alice.     'Not  for  some  time.' 

colonel.     'He  isn't  a  bad  sort,  Steve.' 

alice.  'Oh,  no — she  might  even  do  worse 
some  day.  But  she  is  to  be  my  little  girl  for 
a  long  time  first.' 


134  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

colonel.  '  This  will  give  him  a  sort  of  glamour 
to  her,  you  know.' 

alice.  'You  are  not  really  thinking,  Robert, 
that  my  Amy  is  to  fall  asleep  to-night  before 
she  hears  the  whole  true  story.  Could  I  sleep 
until  she  knows  everything  ! ' 

colonel.  'Stupid  of  me.  I  am  a  little 
like  Steve  in  one  way,  though;  I  don't  under- 
stand why  you  have  kept  it  up  so  long.' 

alice.  'It  isn't  the  first  time  you  have  thought 
me  a  harum-scarum.' 

colonel.     'It  isn't.' 

alice.  'The  sheer  fun  of  it,  Robert,  went  to 
my  head,  I  suppose.  And  then,  you  see,  the 
more  Amy  felt  herself  to  be  my  protectress 
the  more  she  seemed  to  love  me.  I  am  afraid 
I  have  a  weakness  for  the  short  cuts  to  being 
loved.' 

colonel.  '  I  'm  afraid  you  have.  The  one  thing 
you  didn't  think  of  is  that  the  more  she  loves 
you  the  less  love  she  seems  to  have  for  me.' 

alice.     'How  selfish  of  you,  Robert.' 

colonel,  suspiciously,  'Or  was  that  all  part  of 
the  plan  ? ' 


ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  135 

alice.  'There  was  no  plan;  there  wasn't  time 
for  one.  But  you  were  certainly  rather 
horrid,  Robert,  in  the  way  you  gloated  over 
me  when  you  saw  them  take  to  you.  I  have 
been  gloating  a  little  perhaps  in  taking  them 
from  you.' 

colonel.  '  Them  ?  You  are  going  a  little  too 
fast,  my  dear.  I  have  still  got  Cosmo  and 
Molly.' 

alice.     'For  the  moment.' 

colonel.     'Woman.' 

alice.  'Remember,  Amy  said  you  must  not 
call  me  that.' 

He  laughs  as  he  takes  her  by  the  shoulders. 
'Yres,  shake  me;  I  deserve  it.' 

colonel.  'YTou  do,  indeed,'  and  he  shakes  her 
with  a  ferocity  that  would  have  startled  any 
sudden  visitor.  No  wonder,  then,  that  it  is 
a  shock  to  Cosmo,  who  comes  blundering  in. 
Alice  is  the  first  to  see  him,  and  she  turns 
the  advantage  to  unprincipled  account. 

alice.     'Robert,  don't  hurt  me.     Oh,  if  Cosmo 
were  to  see  you  ! ' 
\io.     'Cosmo  does  see  him.'     He  says  it  in 


136  ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

a  terrible  voice.     Probably  Cosmo  has  been 
to  a  theatre  or  two  himself. 
alice.     'You  here,  Cosmo!' 

She  starts  back  from  her  assailant. 
colonel,    feeling    a    little    foolish,    'I    didn't 

hear  you  come  in.' 
cosmo,  grimly,  '  No,  I  'm  sure  you  didn't.' 
colonel,  testily,  'No  heroics,  my  boy.' 
cosmo.     'Take   care,   father.'     He   stands   be- 
tween them,  which  makes  his  father  suddenly 
grin.     'Laugh  on,  sir.     I  don't  know  what 
this     row 's     about,     but' — here     his     arm 
encircles  an  undeserving  lady — 'this  lady  is 
my  mother,  and  I  won't  have  her  bullied. 
What 's  a  father  compared  to  a  mother.' 
alice.     'Cosmo,  darling  Cosmo.' 
colonel,  becoming  alarmed,  'My  boy,  it  was 
only  a  jest.      Alice,  tell  him  it  was  only  a 
jest.' 
alice.     'He  says  it  was  only  a  jest,  Cosmo.' 
cosmo.     'You    are    a    trump    to    shield    him, 
mother.'     He   kisses   her   openly,    conscious 
that  he  is  a  bit  of  a  trump  himself,  in  which 
view  Alice  most  obviously  concurs. 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  137 

colonel,  to  his  better  half,  'You  serpent.' 
cosmo.     'Sir,  this  language  won't  do.' 
colonel,  exasperated,  'You  go  to  bed,  too.' 
alice.     'He   has   sent   Amy   to   bed   already. 
Try   to   love   your   father,    Cosmo,'   placing 
many  kisses  on  the  spot  where  he  had  been 
slapped.     Try  for  my  sake,  and  try  to  get 
Amy  and  Molly  to  do  it,  too.'     Sweetly  to  her 
husband,    'They    will    love    you    in    time, 
Robert;  at  present  they  can  think  only  of 
me.     Darling,  I  '11  come  and  see  you  in  bed.' 

cosmo.     '  I  don't  like  to  leave  you  with  him ' 

alice.     'Go,  my  own;  I  promise  to  call  out  if 
I  need  you.' 

On  these  terms  Cosmo  departs.     The  long- 
suffering  husband,  arms  folded,  surveys  his 
unworthy  spouse. 
colonel.     'You  are  a  hussy.' 
alice,  meekly,  'I  suppose  I  am.' 
colonel.     '  Mind  you,  I  am  not  going  to  stand 

Cosmo  's  thinking  this  of  me.' 
alice.     'As  if  I  would  allow  it  for  another  hour  ! 
You  won't  see  much  of  me  to-night,  Robert. 
If  I  sleep  at  all  it  will  be  in  Amy's  roornl' 


138  ALICE   SIT-BY-THE-FIRE 

colonel,  lugubriously,  'You  will  be  taking 
Molly  from  me  to-morrow.' 

alice.  '  I  feel  hopeful  that  Molly,  too,  will  soon 
be  taking  care  of  me.'  She  goes  to  him  in  her 
cajoling  way:  'With  so  many  chaperones, 
Robert,  I  ought  to  do  well.  Oh,  my  dear,  don't 
think  that  I  have  learnt  no  lesson  to-night.' 

colonel,  smiling,  'Going  to  reform  at  last?' 

alice,  the  most  serious  of  women,  'Yes,  Robert. 
The  Alice  you  have  known  is  come  to  an  end. 
To-morrow ' 

colonel.  'If  she  is  different  to-morrow  I  '11 
disown  her.' 

alice.  'It 's  summer  done,  autumn  begun. 
Farewell,  summer,  we  don't  know  you  any 
more.  My  girl  and  I  are  like  the  little  figures 
in  the  weather-house;  when  Amy  comes  out, 
Alice  goes  in.  Alice  Sit-by-the-fire  hence- 
forth. The  moon  is  full  to-night,  Robert,  but 
it  isn't  looking  for  me  any  more.  Taxis 
farewell — advance  four-wheelers.  I  had  a 
beautiful  husband  once,  black  as  the  raven 
was  his  hair ' 

colonel.     'Stop  it.' 


ALICE  SIT-BY-THE-FIRE  139 

alice.  'Pretty  Robert,  farewell.  Farewell, 
Alice  that  was;  it 's  all  over,  my  dear.  I 
always  had  a  weakness  for  you;  but  now  you 
must  really  go;  make  way  there  for  the  old 
lady.' 

colonel.  'Woman,  you  '11  make  me  cry.  Go 
to  your  Amy.' 

alice.     'Robert ' 

colonel.     'Go.     Go.     Go.' 

As  he  roars  it  Amy  peeps  in  anxiously. 
She  is  in  her  nightgown,  and  her  hair  is  down 
and  her  feet  are  bare,  and  she  does  not  look 
so  very  much  more  than  five.  Alice  is  unable 
to  resist  the  temptation. 

alice,  wailing,  'Must  I  go,  Robert?' 

amy.  '  Going  away  ?  Mother !  Father,  if 
mother  goes  away,  what  is  to  become  of  me  ? ' 
She  draws  them  together  until  their  hands 
clasp.  There  is  now  a  beatific  smile  on  her 
face.  The  curtain  sees  that  its  time  has  come; 
it  clicks,  and  falls. 

the  end 


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